


Learn to Trust

by queenofthewolfswood



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Westeros, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Archive warning will change, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Rating will change, Slow Burn, Smut, did I mention that this is a really slow burn? Cuz it is lmao, jonsa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-04-22 22:35:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14318526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofthewolfswood/pseuds/queenofthewolfswood
Summary: Sansa Stark loves her job as a special education teacher at Winterfell Middle School, working with students with behavioral issues. She loves it, even if the workload can be crushing at times. What she really needs is a distraction from the stress of her every day life. Fate decides to deliver a distraction in the form of a mysterious, serious, deliciously handsome new teacher.





	1. Can I Hold It Down, Have I Been Trying My Best?

**Author's Note:**

> Work title taken from "Learn to Trust" by Bad Suns. Subsequent chapter titles will be taken from the lyrics. More tags will be added as the story unfolds to avoid spoilers. This is my first fic, enjoy! Thank you to Brad (chocolateghost) and Amy (Amymel86) for being my betas and helping get this fic off the ground!

Sansa has been officially employed at Winterfell Middle School for two years, where she is a special education teacher that works exclusively with children with mood disorders and behavioral issues. She has been loving and mending children who thought they were unlovable and unfixable for longer than she could remember, starting as a camp counselor for foster kids, all the way through university, when she had volunteered at a women and children’s domestic violence shelter. Loving people is second nature to her, and she always has a kind word and soft smile for anyone who needs it. She prides herself on her even temper and sweet sense of humor, as it has won her the affection of the students and teachers she works directly with. It is a hard job when it comes to the highly detailed data criteria for each of her students, and can be emotionally draining depending on how the students are behaving on any given day, but luckily this year she only has five students.

 

As she hurries through the empty halls of the building before the start-of-school meeting, she thinks about what the students she’d had the previous year had endured over the summer break. Some would come back changed, and not necessarily for the better.

 

*****

 

One student in particular had given her pause at the customary pre-semester student conference. _Ramsay Bolton._ He was, at least during her initial observation of him, a quiet, seemingly polite student who would be in his first year at WMS. He and his father, Roose, along with his general education teachers and special education teacher from his elementary school had met with her the previous week to discuss the expectations of Sansa’s classroom, as well as set educational goals for his first year.

 

There was something unsettling about his sly, shockingly pale blue eyes as he sat in the chair across from her desk. Sansa had bristled slightly at the way he watched her while she talked, and thought about how his nostrils had flared with anger while his former teachers talked about his behaviors.

 

He had stood up from his chair so quickly that it had crashed to the floor, and got _right_ in his former special education teacher’s face with an almost feral look gleaming beneath the simmering rage in his eyes.

 

“Don't tell lies about me to my new teacher, you _fucking cocksucker_ ,” he'd said, just loud enough for Sansa to hear. It was the only thing he'd said during the entire meeting, and didn't bode well for what else he might have to say during the school year.

 

The color had immediately drained from Mr. Baelish’s face. Sansa had known him most of her life, as he had been a childhood friend of her mother. She didn't really care for the man, as he had always found sneaky ways to make her uncomfortable with nothing more than a few well-chosen words, but seeing his usual cool, collected persona shatter a bit with Ramsay’s face so close to his own had soured Sansa’s stomach immediately.

 

“Ramsay, there is sufficient empirical evidence to support what I'm telling Ms. Stark. It is not a _lie_ , it is simply data,” Mr. Baelish replied sternly, despite the thin veil of fear across his sharp, rat-like face.

 

“ _Boy_ , you need to _sit down_ and _be quiet_ ,” Roose had said, in a tone that brokered no arguments. He shot his son a pointed look that made Sansa vaguely suspicious. _I suppose it's a good thing all teachers are mandatory reporters,_ she thought, _although maybe Roose is just stern because he's a single father._

 

Sansa sighs at the memory and returns to the present. _It's going to be a long year._

 

_*****_

 

Just outside the propped-open front door of the double classroom that the school-wide staff meeting is being held in, Sansa uses one of the breathing techniques she routinely teaches her students to help them calm down. Anxiety grips her like a vice, knowing that she would most likely have to speak in front of her fellow staff members. She’d rehearsed part of her somewhat-cobbled-together speech to herself, but knew that for the most part, she would be flying by the seat of her metaphorical pants. _I know it's not easy having children with behavioral issues in your classroom, but please listen to what I am trying to convey to you,_ she tries to desperately communicate with her eyes as the other teachers note her entrance. She’d made it on time, but just barely. Sansa had been caught up with student data entry on her laptop before she had realized the time and had made a mad dash towards the designated meeting room at the other end of the school.

 

She allows her eyes to roam the room for a moment, looking for who else was missing so she wouldn't officially be the last one to arrive for the meeting; then she locks her eyes onto someone at the back of the classroom that she doesn't recognize. Sansa’s heart swoops and crashes back against her ribs so violently that she thinks for a moment she might be having a heart attack. Her stomach all but bounces off the carpeted floor, and returns to her, feeling completely out of place. She lets out a breath that she didn't know she had been holding. Her reaction is confusing and exhilarating and infuriating all at once, and she mused as to why her heart starts to pound beneath her ribs like a hammer nailing a coffin closed. _Because he looks like he could be the death of you,_ a small voice responded.

 

Sansa feels rattled but shakes off the feeling, keeping a wary eye on him as Principal Tyrell begins her customary pre-school-year speech. The mystery man hasn't looked at her yet, to her slight disappointment, but it gives her time to study his features without notice. He has a strong jaw shadowed with the hint of a recently shorn beard, and muscular arms and shoulders that she could see are straining against his denim button up shirt, and dark trousers or not, there was no denying that he definitely has a _great ass_. His dark hair is curly, but pulled back into the recently popular “man bun”. The midnight eyes that watch the principal give her speech are bespectacled by rounded rectangular glasses that somehow manage to match his hair and jawline at the same time. His lips are sinfully plump and a soft shade of pink, with a cupid’s bow that any woman of sane mind would kill for. He seemed rather serious, and Sansa immediately wants to know who, _exactly_ , he is.

 

 _You idiot, you have a husband waiting at home for you, and you have your future to think about_ , that same small voice rebukes her. Not that Harry ever really pays her any mind. On the nights he's actually at home and not out drinking their savings away with his posse of idiotic friends, he ignores her and plays on his phone or gaming system while Sansa types away on her laptop, preparing for school even during the summer. Usually though, her only company is her laptop, a rom-com on Netflix, and a big glass of wine, sometimes two.

 

Sansa sighs silently and thinks to herself, _It will be a very long year indeed._

  
Just then, the mystery man smiles, a small but still somehow incandescent grin that tugs at the frayed edges of Sansa’s heart. He's chuckling at some absolutely pitiful pun that the principal has made, but it causes his entire face to light up. _Oh, my gods, I think I'm in trouble,_ Sansa thinks briefly. That was the moment Principal Tyrell decided to call on her to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh I was so nervous to put this out there BUT I'm glad I did, I have a lot more in store for this fic and my fingers are positively ITCHING to flesh it out. Sorry for the cliffhanger but I will be posting chapter two tomorrow! If you liked this first chapter, please leave a comment and/or kudos! I'm a sucker for positive feedback. <3


	2. Eternal Questions Always Asking, Feeling Distressed, Oh!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos on the first chapter! I will do my best to reply to everyone when I can, and I appreciate the heck out of all of you <3

Jon didn't notice the woman’s quiet entrance near the front of the classroom until Principal Tyrell turns and gestures to where she's standing near the front door. _Gods, she's a treat_ , he thinks as his gaze lingers on the woman that is currently captivating his attention. She blushes quite prettily as she begins an eloquent speech about the ways that the general education teachers could help the special education students, and he listens to her lilting voice as though she is singing the most glorious song in the universe. She is, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, and he'd been with and seen many beautiful women before now. If looks could kill, Jon Snow would be a dead man.

 

She has a heart-shaped face that is pale as alabaster and smooth as the finest silk, with a pert nose, full lips slicked with a rosy gloss, and the most beautiful blue eyes he's ever seen, bluer than the sky on a cloudless, midsummer day. Her face is framed by a long cascade of copper hair that would put a freshly minted penny to shame. She's clad in a short hunter green dress covered in dusky pink peonies that hugs her full breasts to her waist and flares out from there to stop a few inches above her knees. He can see that the white socks, that he had mistaken for stockings upon his first once over, curve over her knees and end just below the edge of her dress, and hug her mile-long legs into a pair of soft, copper-colored knee high boots.

 

 _The same copper as her hair,_ Jon thinks briefly, before feeling rather guilty that he hasn't actually heard a word she's said so far, even though his appraisal had taken all of ten seconds. _You dummy, you missed her introduction at the beginning of her speech._ He is determined to listen to the rest with undivided attention. She looks at each staff member in turn while she speaks, establishing a connection with each of them to, Jon presumes, drive her point home. He wonders if she will ever look his way.

 

“The special education students that you will have in your classes this year will need more than just tolerance or pity. They will need our _love,_ they will need our _attention,_ and most importantly, they will need our _patience_ ,” the beautiful woman pleads. “We may not know what their home lives are like, but here, we have the opportunity to allow them to feel something different that what they expect. As middle school educators, we spend hours upon hours with our students during some of their most formative years, therefore it is up to us, as professionals, to see and anticipate their needs and meet them with the warmth they deserve.

 

“Clinical studies have been conducted concerning the reasons why students act out in unexpected ways, and the data overwhelmingly points to a lack of positive reinforcement. This doesn't just apply to special education students either; general education students also benefit from positive reinforcement and replacement behaviors for unexpected actions.

 

“As such, I will be conducting a one-hour positive reinforcement training seminar during our monthly teacher in-service this month, and over the next few months we will hold additional seminars for any teachers who feel that they could benefit from learning more of the nuances of positive reinforcement.

 

“In conclusion, no child should ever feel anything less than accepted when it is within our power to give that acceptance to them. Go Direwolves!” She ends the speech with a megawatt grin and a fist punched into the air.

 

The entire room applauds her speech, and Jon feels his heart flutter when his gaze locks with the woman who had been speaking. She blushes again as they watch each other for one second, then two, then three…before she looks away suddenly and departs the room with another female staff member.

 

 _Beauty, brains, AND compassion? Who is she, where has she been hiding all my life, and will I ever get the chance to see her during the school day?_ He can only shake his head in wonder. Other than staff meetings, grade level teachers and special education teachers rarely interacted outside of the brief emails and notes they exchanged about student behaviors, as he had come to learn at his previous teaching job. _With my luck, she'll be on the other side of the school. Might as well be on the other side of the world,_ Jon thinks glumly.

 

After the meeting, he returns to his new classroom on the far side of the building, full of nervous anticipation at the thought of school beginning in just a few days. _I should try to be friendly with my neighboring teachers, I don't want them to think I'm some brooding ass like at the Arbor_ , he resolves, before he strides from his classroom to the one next door, stopping briefly to rap his knuckles on the closed door before he enters.

 

*****

 

Sansa’s classroom etiquette posters flutter gently as the cooling system switches on, leaving her with a feeling of relief as the chilly air brushes the back of her neck, cooling her previously flushed skin. She shakes her head, reprimanding herself for even thinking of the man who had so deliciously terrified her; it was a one-off, a complete coincidence.

 

She'd started off her speech to her fellow teachers with an anxious edge to her voice and a trembling in her hands, but had felt heartened the further into her speech she got, as she had purposely looked into the eyes of everyone facing her at the front of the classroom, and knew they were paying rapt attention. Sansa had purposely avoided looking at the mystery man until the end, because she genuinely wasn't sure her voice wouldn't crack or just give out on her completely. _What was that, during the meeting? That man met my eyes and and he looked as though he was...intrigued? He stared into my eyes much longer than was necessary for two people who've never met._

 

Anyway, with her luck she wouldn't get to see that gorgeous, dark-haired stranger frequently in the school building.

 

She turns her attention back to the task at hand, writing the daily class schedule in a neat and curling script on the whiteboard. She has her headphones in and is singing along to the song playing, when she hears a short series of raps on her door. She pauses her music and turns her head just as the door opened, and there stands that serious, mysterious man.

 

“Oh,” is all he is able to croak before clearing his throat gently, with a look that Sansa can't finish reading before a tinge of pink steals up his neck and across his cheeks. It felt as though her heart had stopped at the sight of him standing there, and restarts again when she hears the baritone of his voice. She's positive that her face is as red as her hair by this point.

 

“I, uhh...wanted to introduce myself to the teacher in the next classroom over, but it's...you.” He pauses, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. Sansa notices the seams of his shirt are definitely straining against the width of his shoulders. He looks around Sansa’s classroom, taking in the décor. “You, uh, don't have to stop singing, if you don't want to, that is.” For a moment she felt as exposed as her name day, but she noticed his rich brown eyes are alight with amusement, a slight quirk to his lips, and Sansa relaxes just a bit, the excess color leaving her face.

 

“It's a bit stark in here,” he teases, gesturing at the essentially bare walls of her classroom.

 

Sansa smiles wryly. “It's actually a safety precaution that I had to learn the hard way my first year.” She grimaces at the memory of one of her former students destroying her carefully decorated classroom in a fit of rage the second week of school last year. She wouldn't waste time or money on such frivolities this time around: spartan was this year’s _modus operandi_. “Students with unpredictable behaviors have been known to make much trouble with few resources, Mr....?”

 

“Snow.”

 

“Ah well, Mr. Snow, maybe someday I'll tell you the story of why it's so utilitarian in here, but there’s something you should know. I'm always rather stark. Sansa Stark, in fact.” She allows the corners of her lips to tip upwards again, hoping that he has caught her pun.

 

He somehow manages to groan and chuckle at the same time.

 

“Well Miss _Stark_ , please come next door any time you need extra assistance with your students. Most likely, my history class won't be nearly as...entertaining as yours.”

 

Sansa cheeks heat at his kind words, and at what she assumes is an adorably feeble attempt at flirting, but she feels a duty to inform him of the truth. She worries that she has possibly mislead him to believe her to be unmarried, seeing as how she never wears the ring Harry had gotten her upon their engagement. He'd never bothered to take the time to get it properly sized for her after the fact or even snoop around to find out her ring size prior to buying a ring that was patently too large for _any_ of her dainty fingers, and gods know she never had time to take it to a jeweler herself as she was always elbows deep in paperwork or housework. The ring usually sat on her bedside table, which didn't seem to bother Harry, as he'd not even once asked her why she never wore it.

 

“Actually, it's Ms. Stark,” she confesses. “I'm married, but the staff had already become used to my maiden name before I married, so I decided that they should call me by a name they were familiar with.”

 

“Oh,” he says again, softly, with a slightly crestfallen look on his face. Sansa is saddened to see his disappointment at the revelation.

 

“I didn't catch your first name,” she blurts out, loudly clearing her throat first to dispel whatever awkwardness lingers.

 

“Jon,” he replies simply.

 

“Jon,” she grinned, “lovely to make your acquaintance, and I hope to see more of you soon.”

 

“Same here. Erm, well I'll leave you to it, then,” he replies before stuffing his hands in his pockets and nearly darting from the room. Sansa is able to confirm her earlier suspicion that he does, indeed, have a _fantastic ass_ , as he hurries away.

  
She groans out loud once the door clicks shut. _No, no of COURSE fate would throw that seven-course feast directly into my everyday routine. How am I ever going to get any work done, knowing he's right next door and could pop in here any time he damn well pleases? This is going to be the longest school year ever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit longer than the first I think, and sets the scene a bit more. Sorry if the purple prose was a bit of overkill BUT (in the words of Ned Stark... ;D ) I had a specific mood in mind and honestly I didn't want to short change it! Hope you like it, and I will try to update again tomorrow but my little one is sick so I will see how much I can accomplish tonight!
> 
> Once again, shout out to Brad (chocolateghost) being the best and for catching my spelling errors, we would have had "peosies" instead of peonies if not for him! You rock!


	3. I'm A Ticking Bomb Inside A Selfless Man

The first week of the school year is almost over, and Sansa is in the teachers’ lounge before school, relaxing with her friends and fellow special education teachers, Jeyne Poole and Myranda Royce. The two of them have set it upon themselves to convince Sansa to join them at a bar close to school after the last bell rings. 

 

“Sansa, why don't you come out with us anymore?” Randa wheedles.

 

“Come on Sans, Grenn said A Drink for Crows is supposed to be really fun,  _ and  _ it has a dance floor too! I know how much you love dancing, don't even try to deny it, girl!” Jeyne pesters.

 

“Harry doesn't like me spending Friday nights away from him,” Sansa explains with a blush before sipping her coffee. She neglects to mention that Fridays are usually the day that Harry decides she is worth his affections.

 

“Come on Sans, it's just one night! And who knows, maybe Mr. Snow will show up to woo you.”

 

“RANDA!”

 

Myranda chuckles and looks at Sansa pointedly when she blushes a deep shade of pink.

 

Sansa can guess why her friends are looking rather smug about her prickly reaction: on the first day of school, the three of them had been in Sansa’s classroom when  _ he  _ had stopped by after classes were done for the day, and her friends  _ clearly _ thought there was some underlying...tension between Sansa and the teacher next door. 

 

Jon Snow.

 

*****

 

The three of them had just begun chatting about their summers and new students, when Jon had rapped on her closed door once again and let himself in.

 

He had almost turned around and walked back out when he saw the two women in the classroom with Sansa looking at him like he was a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies. His expression flicked briefly from surprise to mild discomfort before he arranged his features, somewhat unsuccessfully, into a mask of polite disinterest. Sansa had to stifle a giggle.

 

“Um, my apologies for the interruption ladies,” he stammered before turning beet red at their sudden silence and undivided attention on him. “Ms. Stark, I just wanted to make sure your first day went smoothly. I heard shouting in here during first hour.”

 

“Oh yes, no need for concern Mr. Snow,” she'd replied breezily, hoping her friends wouldn't notice the little shiver she'd had when he had walked into the classroom. “I told the students before our first behavior expectations class that they were allowed to shout and scream as loud as they wanted for one full minute, and that was the only time I would allow that. I explained that I don't find screaming and shouting to be of any use to get what you need, so they made full use of that minute before we officially started.”

 

“That's good to hear, Ms. Stark. Well, I'll leave you ladies to it then, have a good evening.” He inclined his head at the three of them, before addressing Sansa directly, “I'll see you in the morning, Ms. Stark,” and shut the door behind him.

 

Jeyne and Myranda had barely waited until the door was closed before they started gushing about Jon. 

 

“Who is  _ that, _ Sansa?!” Jeyne had exclaimed with excitement, a dreamy look in her eyes.

 

“Um, his name is Jon Snow. He teaches history in the classroom next door,” Sansa replied, thankful that they hadn't commented on her flushed cheeks.

 

While Jeyne and Myranda had fawned over the traits they found the sexiest about him (“He has the most  _ come-hither,  _ bedroom eyes I've ever seen on a man,” Jeyne had sighed longingly, while Myranda added with a devilish gleam in her eyes, “Did you see how  _ huge _ his biceps are? I'd let him bench press me any day!”), Sansa was left to ruminate on her day in peace, if only for a moment.

 

She hadn't mentioned to either of her friends, or Jon, about the way Ramsay had sat completely still and silent at his desk for the full minute, coldly observing his classmates cacophony. He didn't say a word the entire class, or during the following two periods while he was in Sansa’s room for social skills class and reading comprehension assessments. It was starting to get a little bizarre by the end of the third hour, but luckily he had spent the rest of the day in general education classes, and Sansa had only briefly seen him at the end of the day when he turned up to hand in his student data sheet.

 

“Ramsay! Hello dear,” she smiled warmly at him. “How was your first day? Did you meet anyone new?”

 

“It was wonderful, Ms. Stark. No one talked to me. I didn't  _ want  _ anyone to talk to me.” He stretched his mouth into something that Sansa thought would resemble a smile, if he hadn't shown so many of his teeth. 

 

_ Ramsay is a rather...odd child, but maybe he's just a bit shy since it's his first year,  _ she had decided, before being jolted out of her memories by a sharp poke to her ribs.

 

*****

 

“OW! What the fresh hells Jeyne?” Sansa grumbles, rubbing the spot gingerly while glaring at her offending friend.

 

“I was  _ asking _ what you think about Mr. Snow, but you were too busy with your head in the clouds to listen to me, beeyotch,” Jeyne teases her. “So...what's the consensus on Mr. Snow? Bang or hang?”

 

Sansa flushes once again, more at the way Jeyne has phrased the question than in genuine annoyance.

 

“Uh, well, I'm  _ married _ you know, so hang I guess.” She shrugs and struggles to keep her voice aloof as she adds, “He's kind enough I suppose, he came and introduced himself after the meeting last week, and he offered to help out if a student happens to get out of hand.”

 

“Oh I'm  _ sure  _ he'd like to give you a hand Sansa,” Myranda says, before adding in a low, conspiratorial tone, “ _ right between those pretty long legs of yours.”  _ She winks suggestively and waggles her manicured brows at Sansa.

 

**_“MYRANDA ROYCE I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU_ ** ,” Sansa all but roars while her friends double over, eyes streaming with tears of mirth. 

 

“FINE! You know what, I'll go out tonight. I'm sure Harry will be okay with letting me off my leash for one night,” Sansa agrees grudgingly. Jeyne and Myranda just laugh again as they all gather their belongings to head to their classrooms for the day.

 

“Great! About time woman!” Myranda beams at her. “Oh and Sansa…if for some reason Jon Snow  _ isn’t  _ there, I'll give you $10 and the first round of drinks is on me; but if he  _ is  _ there, you're picking up the tab for the whole night!”

 

“How is that fair?!”

 

“Life's not fair sweetheart, but like you pointed out, you're the one with a husband. Two people, two incomes. I'm sure you can afford to take a bet like that!” Myranda watches Sansa from the corner of her eye, gauging her reaction.

 

“Ugh, I'm sure Harry will be  _ so pleased _ to know that I skipped out on an evening in with him, and all it cost was a  _ fortune _ ,” Sansa shoots back, but she doesn't feel particularly upset about agreeing to the terms of the bet. She isn't sure, after all, what Jon does after school hours.  _ For all I know, he sits at home all weekend grading papers. He seems like he would be very committed to being a good teacher. It couldn't really hurt to take a bet like this _ .

 

“HA! So you DO think that he will be there!” Jeyne squeaks with excitement while Myranda looks positively triumphant.

 

“Er, well, I-I don't….just shut up and be glad I'm coming out at all!” She finishes, with a huff and little  _ stomp _ of her foot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW I KNOW, not enough of our favorite pair and sort of a filler chapter but it will help out chapter 4, which I will post TONIGHT (!!) when I get home from work! Also, fwiw the rating will go up one level next chapter ;) Thanks for reading, my babes <3


	4. You're A Casualty I Can't Forget

Jon has had seven hells of a first week, and he could really use a beer after school is done for the day. His students had all thought they would have Mr. Targaryen as their history teacher this year; he had a track record of giving lots of lectures on Westerosi history, but never assigning much homework. Mr. Targaryen had retired the previous year, and the students weren't expecting a young, energetic new teacher or the homework load that came along with it. The level of moderate rebellion was making Jon think he would most definitely be one of the teachers attending Sansa Stark’s extra seminars on positive reinforcement. _Not that spending extra time with her would bother me,_ he thinks as he packs up for the day, _but it might not be the best thing for my heart, all things considered._

 

He's thinking of swinging by the liquor mart after he leaves to pick up a six-pack of Guinness, and maybe stopping by Hot Pie's to get a pizza so he can just veg out on the couch with Ghost tonight. Jon's so deep in thought about his all-but-set evening plans that he didn't hear his visitor until a booming voice nearly makes him jump out of his skin.

 

“Oi! Snow!” Grenn practically shouts at the back of Jon’s head.

 

“Ahh Grenn, give a man some warning would ya? I thought I was going to have a heart attack at the ripe young age of twenty-seven!” Jon grumbles at Grenn when he turns to greet him.

 

“Never mind that Snow, there are cold ones and hot girls calling our names at A Drink for Crows, man! Come out and unwind a bit, you seem like you could use a bit of both.” Grenn is grinning widely at him, with an expression that won't take “no” for an answer.

 

“Alright man, but just for a little while, I've got to get home to let Ghost out soon. But I'll admit, I could really use a drink after the week I've had,” Jon supplies with a groan and a stretch. “These kids man, they all think it's funny to tap their pencils on the desks while I'm trying to give a lecture, and don't even get me started on the need to all use the pencil sharpener at the same time. If I have to hear that noisy thing going off for fifteen straight minutes again…”

 

Grenn gives a booming laugh, “Say no more my good man! I'll follow you back to yours, and then we can ride together to the bar so you can pound back a few. I'll be your D.D. this time, but you owe me one!” He finishes with a finger waggle at Jon.

 

“Ready when you are,” Jon chuckles back at Grenn.

 

It only takes a few minutes to get to Jon’s flat from school, and he feeds Ghost and lets him out to do his business so he won't have to worry about being back for a few hours at least.

 

“So who’s going to be at the bar tonight?” Jon asks Grenn in the car. _I hope Sansa will be there, I haven't seen her since Monday, and I could use some intelligent conversation._

 

“Well a few birds from our hall, at the very least. A Drink for Crows is a pretty popular Friday spot for the teachers so we might see a few others there, too. You need more friends, man, I can't be the only pretty face you hang out with all the time,” Grenn jokes.

 

At the bar, Jon and Grenn are able to snag a couple stools at the bar top, and they wave down the barkeep to order a couple pints of Guinness.

 

“Who d’you think came up with this bar name? It sounds like something out of a book, because I've never seen a crow drink anything before,” Grenn quips to Jon once their beer has been placed in front of them.

 

“I dunno man, but whoever did was probably thinking the same thing,” Jon says by way of an answer to what he assumes is a rhetorical question. Grenn just rolls his eyes at Jon.

 

Jon sips his beer and looks around the small but crowded room, only seeing either curious or unfriendly faces. He quietly resigns himself to a night of drinking away the curiosity he can't help but feel for his classroom neighbor, despite the crowds and noise. At least Grenn is good, if noisy, company.

 

Grenn had just started regaling him with stories of his glory days as the captain of the Winterfell High School football team, when he a gust of cool autumn air on his neck makes him shiver lightly.

 

Jon turns on his bar stool, feeling strangely compelled to see who could possibly think that they could find a seat in the crowded taproom. His eyebrows immediately shoot up to his hairline, and he thinks his jaw might need to be surgically reattached to his face after falling to the floor in sheer incredulity.  _It seems my luck has taken a turn for the better tonight!_ Jon thinks as a small smile curves the edges of his lips.

 

It’s Sansa Stark, along with two other female teachers he thinks he might vaguely recognize, and he hopes that maybe it won’t be such a quiet night after all.

 

One of Sansa’s companions spots him and Grenn at the bar, and drags Sansa by the hand to where they are seated, the other friend following along with an expression on her face like the cat who ate the canary. Sansa looks aggrieved, for some reason. Jon hopes he isn't the cause.

 

“Ladies! So glad you were able to make it out tonight! Jon Snow here needs to relax after the week he’s had, by gods these kids are going to break him before the end of the semester,” Grenn quips to their coworkers. Jon rolls his eyes at Grenn’s hyperbole. “Have you had the pleasure of Jon’s acquaintance yet, you lovely things?”

 

The slight woman with dark brown hair responds with a smirk, “Well _we_ know who he is, but he doesn't know us yet.” The buxom, curly-haired woman winks at Sansa before flashing Jon a toothy smile. Jon blushes from neck to scalp when Sansa adds, “They've been asking me _all_ about you, Jon.”

 

After being formally introduced to Sansa’s friends, Jeyne Poole and Myranda Royce, who are also special education teachers but in different divisions, Jon turns to Sansa with a look of concern. “Are you alright, Sansa? You look pained. Are you feeling ill?”

 

“Well it seems I’ve lost a bet, so tonight, your tabs are on me,” Sansa announces to the four of them, a bit ruefully but not without flashing the group a tight smile. Jon isn't exactly sure what she’s talking about, but his sneaking suspicion that it has to do with him is all but verbally confirmed, especially considering how frequently Sansa’s two friends look between themselves with ill-disguised smirks. "I don't mind at all though," she adds, almost as an afterthought, before stealing a look at Jon and curling her pretty red lips up at him in a smile meant just for him. Jon feels his heart flutter again, filled with a dangerous hope.

 

The five of them chat for a bit about the first week of school, laughing about the antics of their students; Jon thinks he has smiled more in the last twenty minutes than he had over the previous four years. He attempts to check Sansa out on the sly. Black leather sandals, a spangly black skirt that hugs the curve of her ass in a way that should probably be criminal and a soft, grey sleeveless blouse, which shows off her slender, yet toned arms to perfection.

 

Luckily, he manages to avoid the detection of his roaming eyes as Sansa chose that moment to turn her back to him to get the attention of the barkeep. He notes the back of the shirt is sheer….with a black lace bralette underneath. He wonders how in seven hells she had managed to pull that off during the school day. _Good gods, Snow, pull your chin up off the ground before she turns around, sees you gawking at her, and slaps you silly._

 

Sansa turns back before he can blink enough times to calm himself and leans in close to him. “I ordered you an old fashioned, is that alright? You seem like a whiskey man but I didn't want to presume,” She tilts her head to the left ever so slightly, before quickly adding, “I can order you something else if that's not to your taste.” She looks a little embarrassed, but her embarrassment vanishes when Jon grabs her hand and squeezes gently.

 

“I love a good old fashioned,” he replies earnestly. _A good, old-fashioned fuck_ , flashes unbidden through his mind, and he drops his hand from hers before she can stop him.

 

Sansa’s laugh is so delighted, that he has to look away from her or else risk revealing his filthy thoughts. _Get a grip Snow, she's off the market!_

 

“I got myself a gin and tonic. Boring, I know, but it's my favorite,” Sansa confides in him once they received their drinks. “It was my father’s favorite, too.” She gives a half smile then, looking drawn and sad. _I don't want her to look that sad ever again_ , Jon resolves.

 

“Why don't you finish that up, and come join me on the dance floor? I'm a piss-poor dancer, all awkward shuffles and two left feet, but I'm sure you'll get a laugh out of it, at least,” Jon asks, desperately wanting to reach out and wipe the tears he could see welling in Sansa’s eyes. He grabs her hand again and brushes the top of her knuckles with his thumb.

 

“That sounds nice,” she acquiesces with a tremulous smile. She dabs at the corners of her eyes with a bar napkin before tossing back the rest of her drink and grabbing Jon’s hand to lead him to the dance floor.

 

_Try not to make too big of a fool of yourself, Snow, and don't touch her unless she asks. She's a married woman, after all._

 

*****

 

Sansa can hardly believe herself, dancing out in the middle of a floor full of people with _Jon Snow, of all people,_ as her dance partner. _Someone could see us, and that would lead to some awkward questions._

 

Her moral compass has always pointed true North, but somehow this doesn't feel wrong. She can’t bring herself to care about what _this_ , whatever it is, might look like to the other patrons of the bar. She doesn't even care what her friends or Grenn might think.

 

Somehow, _this_ feels...right.

 

Harry had been a good boyfriend, and then later fiancé, who could make her laugh and think she could believe in love. They had met at a fraternity party in her junior year of university, and he had proposed after a little over a year together, once she was accepted into her Master’s program at White Harbor University. They had a two year engagement while she advanced through the program and had moved back to her hometown of Winterfell during the second year so she could complete her required year of student teaching. They'd married the summer after her Master’s program was complete, just before Sansa started her first year at WMS as the head of the behavioral division of the special education department.

 

Her hopes had been dashed within the first year of her married life, however, and she couldn't see how things would ever get better between her and Harry.  She worked a more emotionally and physically demanding job than Harry did, but she was still expected to do all the cooking, cleaning, laundry, _what-have-you_ , by the man she’d assumed would not just be her partner, but would be her knight in shining armor. No matter how many times she had asked him for help, he had refused, saying household maintenance was " _a woman’s first priority_.”

 

Instead, he would go out drinking on weeknights and weekends alike with his friends and would vehemently refuse her offers to come get him or call a ride for him so he could spend the night at home instead of gods only knew where. And it wasn't as though Sansa couldn't join them some of the time, but he had instead brusquely asked her _not_ to.

 

On the Tuesday evening of her last week of summer break, her sister had sent her a text message. Harry was out for the night, _again,_ and she was thankful that he wasn't there when she read Arya’s texts because she wasn't sure that she wouldn't have just kicked him out right then and there. She did, however, consider changing all the locks.

 

 **ARYA:** Sans, it physically pains and enrages me to tell you this, and I know this isn't probably what you want to see or hear, but Harry has been cheating on you, most likely even before you got married to that fucking prick.

 

Sansa’s heart bruised in her chest, and her breathing was shallow as she managed to type out a reply.

 

 **SANSA:** How do you know? I trust you Arya, but I have to know the truth, not matter how much it may hurt me.

 

She waited, as the ellipses bubble played on her screen for an eternity and then-

 

She gasped when she saw a screenshot of Harry’s dating profile, and then the pictures and texts came flooding in from Arya.

 

 **ARYA:** He’s been fucking this girl I work with since last fall, ever since they matched on PlentyOfKnights. I did some snooping to find his profile but it wasn't that hard, the twit used his real name and everything!!!

 

 **ARYA:** The only reason I know it's him is because he included his unfortunate face in the dick pic he sent her while I was watching a video on her phone. I think I might be scarred for life.

 

 **ARYA:** I was able to screenshot their texts and send them to myself without her noticing, but I didn't tell her who he was, in case you have a highly illegal plan on how to deal your revenge.

 

Sansa saw the pictures in question. It was, without a doubt, Harry. Even if he hadn't been stupid enough to include his face in the background, she'd seen him naked enough times that the dick pic was more incriminating than a full set of fingerprints at a crime scene. Plus, he had a very distinct birthmark on his thigh, which was of course also in the picture. _What a fucking idiot._

 

 **ARYA:** I think I need to go throw up now, and then cut off that sad excuse for a dick once I'm done. I mean honestly, I know Harry’s the literal WORST but who the FUCK still uses PlentyOfKnights?!

 

 **ARYA:** Also, how can you even get off with a dick that small?!?!?!?!?!

 

 **SANSA:**....I think I might need to go throw up too.

 

 **ARYA:** I'm so sorry, Sans. If you need to hire an assassin, I know a certain someone who’d do it for free.

 

Ever since that conversation with Arya, Sansa had been extra vigilant of Harry’s nights out with his “friends”. She would insist on calling for a cab to whatever club he was supposedly at, and he would staunchly refuse every time. Every refusal just stoked more wood to the flame that was her white-hot anger.

 

 _How dare he treat me like a maid and a bedslave, who he can't even be bothered to take the time to get off, when he's out there getting his jollies from someone else?! We've been married for barely over a year and he's been fucking someone else for most of it!_ Sansa raged to herself as soon as Harry had closed the door to their home on his way out for the evening, the night of the first full day of school. She felt especially angry at herself, as she considered that there was a certain very attractive teacher that had tried to flirt with her a week before, only to shut him down. _If I'd known then what I know now..._ _Well, I suppose this not only gives me grounds for divorce, but grounds for a good and thorough seduction of Jon Snow._

 

The beat of a bass-heavy remix jars her back to the present and away from the angry memories of the last few years of her life that she had wasted on Harry.

 

“ _Snap BACK to reality, OH there goes gravity…”_

 

Sansa’s reality, thankfully, includes her grinding her ass, _hard_ , against Jon’s hips in time with the music with their hands intertwined on her hips. She can feel the evidence of Jon’s attraction to her against her backside, and she grinds ever so slightly harder in response. The lyrics are blasting about a once in a lifetime opportunity, and Sansa smiles a secret smile to herself and thinks, _Well if Harry can have his fun, then why shouldn't I?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you! Yeah you! If you like this fic (shameless plug time) come on over to tumblr and follow me @tentacruels! I post Jonsa/general Game of Thrones related things/memes/animals/occasional self-deprecating humor! If you're enjoying this please be sure to let me know by leaving a comment or smashin that MFing kudos button! Hugs and kisses to you all <3


	5. So, Come On & Let Me Know

Jon can hardly believe his luck: this bombshell of a classroom neighbor, Sansa Stark, is grinding her firm, full ass directly over his cock, when they both full well know that she's married. _But gods, if that doesn't make this all the more sexy. I don’t know what exactly she wants from me but I’m willing to give her whatever it is._

 

He doesn’t want to look into this as more than just Sansa being drunk and him being eager. She can’t possibly want anything other than a way to unwind on a Friday night, but he has a feeling that if it was up to him, he wouldn’t be leaving the bar tonight with anyone other than her. He tries to concentrate on not getting hard as he's dancing with Sansa; he thinks about all the lesson planning and grading he has to do over the weekend, his grocery list and cleaning he has to do, and even Ghost, but-- _oh fuck, now she's facing me and I can feel her heat on my leg. Good gods what do I do?!_

 

Jon isn't quite sure how his thigh ended up between hers, but he decides that he sure as hell isn’t going to _not_ use it to his advantage. He gently places one hand on her hip and her other hand in his own, lacing their fingers again, and looks in her eyes as she pulls him closer. He’s braver now than he’s ever been before, and the fact that anyone could see them, _like this_ , makes his cock jump with desire.

 

 _Good gods I know it's dark in here, but I could swear her blue eyes are black now,_ he thinks, just before her pink tongue glides slowly over her full, lipstick-red lips. _Holy fuck Snow, don't jizz your pants! That would be embarrassing for both of us and probably put her off you completely! Play it cool, don’t let her see how much she affects you, even if you’re half in love with her already._

 

Not that there was any way in seven hells that she couldn’t feel how hard he was, even through the thick denim of his jeans. Now he can't deny that she's _definitely_ appraising him with the hungriest of looks in her eyes, and who is Jon Snow to deny the effects of biology and primal desires? But he knows that if anything happens tonight, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself; he doesn’t want this to mar or twist the beginnings of their friendship. No matter what his heart is screaming at him, he knows he will thank his rationality in the morning.

 

Sansa leans forward, allowing their chests to brush as she murmurs huskily into his ear just over the rhythm of the music, “Are you going to to take me home, Mr. Snow?”

 

Jon can hardly catch his breath, let alone his rampant thoughts. _There's nothing I would like more, you gorgeous sex goddess!_

 

Sansa leans toward him, lips parted and eyes half-lidded. _Gods, I think she is going to kiss me! Not that I would mind, but I need to know if that's what she really wants or if it's just the drink clouding her judgement. I wouldn't want her to do anything she would regret later. I don't want her to feel guilty for kissing me, even if it's what I want._

 

Jon’s mind is racing in the split-second he has before their lives have the chance to change permanently; his damnable honor forces him to catch Sansa’s chin before she can make contact with his lips, and he looks deep into her eyes, searching for the answer to a question he would have never thought to ask after that embarrassing encounter in her classroom last week.

 

“What about your husband, Ms. Stark?” he manages to reply over the din of the bar. He doesn’t want to think about her husband, not here, not now, but he has to know without a doubt, what it is that she wants from him. Jon tries to pour his unsaid feelings into his eyes, into the way the pad of his thumb brushes her chin, her lower lip.

 

“What about him, Mr. Snow?” she replies, her voice rough with an emotion he can’t fully interpret. “He's off doing something nasty to someone I don't know,” she finishes, with bitterness lacing her voice.

 

 _Oh gods, she's hurting. I don’t know what she thinks her husband is doing but I can't let her kiss me when she feels like this, it would definitely taint the memory...for both of us._ Jon groans internally.

 

“Sansa…” he begins to say, but before he has an opportunity to respond further, Grenn, Jeyne and Myranda appear as if out of thin air. Jon and Sansa split apart faster than a firecracker.

 

“JON, SANSA! THERE YOU TWO ARE! We have to get these lovely ladies back home, they're absolutely plastered and would be a menace on the roads if we weren't gentlemanly enough to bring them home,” Grenn shouts to make himself heard over the noise of the bar.

 

Jon has never wanted to punch someone more than he does Grenn at the current moment, but the drunken swaying of his colleagues snaps him out of it. Jeyne and Myranda are tittering behind their hands and despite the low lighting he can see it on their faces that they know something is going on. He flashes a glance at Sansa before answering, and is surprised to see she is blushing and avoiding the stares of her friends. _She’s probably glad she didn’t kiss me, then; she wouldn’t want to be caught with me._ Jon is disappointed even though he knows he has no right to feel that way.

 

“Sure man, let's get them home and tucked into bed,” he half-shouts, while under his breath adding to Sansa, “are you ready to leave Sansa? Will you be alright tonight?” He can hardly believe that he has the courage to stop himself from his heart’s desire but the look on her face tells him it's the right decision...for now. Sansa looks disappointed but she nods her head at him, before panic crosses her face.

 

“Shit! I don't remember where I put my purse down, it's got my keys and phone and…” she looks about frantically, trying to remember where she'd last placed it. Jon places a hand softly on her arm as she starts to pull away from the group to search for the missing accessory.

 

“What does it look like, Sansa?” He asks her gently.

 

“It's light blue, with a leather strap. It's small too, I'm worried someone could have…” Sansa’s eyes are glittering with unshed tears again. Jon can hardly bear it; it's heartbreaking to see her looking so worried.

 

Sansa turns to her friends, begging for help in looking for it, “Harry will be so _angry_ if I've lost it, it has my wallet with our credit and debit cards in it too and I won't be able to pay the tab and just….oh this is just too much! I just wanted to have a good time tonight and this is _ruining it!_ ” She starts crying in earnest now, and Jon wonders if it’s just the loss of her purse that has her so upset or if it’s more complicated than that. Either way it’s nigh on unbearable for him to see Sansa cry. He cups her face in both his hands, wiping the tears from her cheeks as he looks into her still shining eyes.

 

“Don't worry Sansa, I'll find it for you.”

 

Sansa looks him directly in his eyes as she says, “I trust you, Jon.”

 

As Grenn and the ladies make their way out of the bar, Jon hopes to whatever gods there are that he can make good on his promise to Sansa.

 

*****

 

After a quick search and payment of the tab on his own card, Jon appears at the back door of the car with Sansa’s purse in hand. He grins at her and taps the partially closed window while wiggling the purse at her.

 

Sansa and Jeyne had been rather spread out in the back, with Jeyne rubbing her shoulder tenderly and telling her everything would be just fine. She visibly relaxes at the sight of Jon and her wayward purse safe in his hands, and allows a laugh to slip past her lips that makes Jon’s heart flutter like young leaves in a gentle spring breeze. She pops the handle for Jon and he slides in next to her. It's a tight fit for three grown adults sitting in the backseat of a compact car, but Jon _definitely_ doesn't mind sitting this close to Sansa.

 

“I thought you might need this,” he murmurs under his breath as he hands her the bag, “considering it has your keys in it.” There's no mistaking the animalistic glimmer in her eyes. Sansa’s breath hitches when his hand lingers on hers, brushing his thumb over her knuckles.

 

“ALRIGHT LADDIE AND LASSES, it's time to get your drunk asses home so I can play some FIFA15 in my boxers, in PEACE!” Grenn shouts, startling his passengers. The engine growls as Grenn throws it in reverse, “Hope everyone’s wearing their seat belts!”

 

Grenn’s car shoots out of the parking lot, wheels squealing, and Jon and Sansa (who were, _very recklessly,_ not wearing their seat belts) are squished together, with Sansa ending up practically in Jon’s lap by the time Grenn straighten the car out. They’re both laughing though, and Jon reluctantly slides Sansa back to the middle seat ones the car straightens out again.

 

“GRENN YOU ABSOLUTE TWIT, GIVE US A BIT OF WARNING NEXT TIME!” Jeyne shouts, half amused and half annoyed, from the other end of the back seat. “WE COULD HAVE DIED BACK HERE MAN!” Grenn shrugs his shoulders and grunts, clearly a man intent on getting home to his gaming system.

 

Jon whispers in Sansa’s ear, so quietly that no one else in the car can hear it, “I wouldn't mind you sitting in my lap again.” She shoots him an inscrutable look, before giving a little shuddering sigh and returning her attention to the conversations of their friends.

 

The entire trip to drop everyone off at their respective homes had been full of laughter and jokes, but Jon is caught up in the feeling of Sansa’s thigh pressed _ever_ so firmly against his own. _I want to hold her hand,_ he thought in the moment before he did exactly that. Sansa’s hand was soft and cool as silk in his own, but he could hardly ignore the firm pressure she returned to him or the way... _GODS_ , _the way she's gripping my finger between two of hers and STROKING…_

 

He tries to keep a clear head as his finger passes between her own two fingers, but he’s nearly drowning in lust. _Her fingers are so impossibly soft….what would it feel like to have them where I really want them?_ He lightly shivers at the thought and has to clench his jaw before a groan slips through his teeth.

 

Before Jon knows it, the two of them are alone in the back seat, and Grenn’s driving them to their next destination. _Sansa’s house. I wonder where she lives, what it's like inside? What her bedroom looks like…_ Jon’s fantasies are interrupted by another loud “OI!” from Grenn.

 

He jolts, and realizes his free hand has slipped to the edge of Sansa’s skirt, but she isn’t attempting to stop his hand from its wayward trip north of the hem. In fact, she looks rather pleased at the prospect. She glances at his lips before biting her own and looking into his eyes.

 

“Snow, keep your hands to yourself back there, Ms. Stark is a happily married woman,” Grenn quips lightly, but with the hint of a warning, when he catches sight of Jon and Sansa’s clasped hands in the rear view mirror. _Hopefully he can't see the way she's absolutely driving me wild, and with only two of her fingers._ Jon shoots Grenn a haughty look and then a guilty one at Sansa.

 

She meets his gaze with defiance, as if to say, _Push my limits, Jon Snow._

 

The arrival into her driveway is unfortunate, to say the least. Sansa startles, then gathers her purse and the cardigan Jon hadn't noticed before. _No wonder she got away with a fuck-me-senseless top like that at school,_ he thinks, amused.

 

Sansa says thank you to Grenn for the ride home and wishes both of them a good night, before pressing something soft into Jon’s hand. He crawls out of the backseat and comes around to the passenger seat, and waits until the awkward silence of Grenn’s car is past him, and he’s back at his own flat, before he dares to unclench his hand.

 

 _If you would ever like to pursue something beyond this, here's my number…._ written in a tidy, curling script upon a bar napkin.


	6. A Heart Glows In The Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: There is a scene at the end of this chapter that could be viewed as...dubious consent, at best, which is why I changed the archive warning. If this is a trigger for you, please do not read past the five asterisks that separate that section from the rest of the chapter. It’s not a long section, and not terribly descriptive for the reasons stated above but if you need to not read this chapter, that’s okay and I completely understand. The next chapter will be a happier one, I promise. <3 please don’t hate me for this chapter!!

_ I'm going insane. I have to be. What else would possess me, Sansa Stark, Queen of Propriety and Duchess of Decorum, to so publicly flirt with a man who most definitely isn’t my husband? _ It’s not like Winterfell is a small town per se, but Sansa comes from a well-known, well-respected family, and she is perhaps the poster child of the family; always following rules and etiquette and politesse. So, she knows this is patently out of character for her.  _ The rumor mill could already be turning, for all I know. _

 

Sansa walks slowly up the sidewalk between the driveway and the house, dreading spending the rest of the evening alone, and mentally chastising herself for being so brash with someone who’s essentially a complete stranger. No matter how attracted she is to Jon (by the wetness she can feel in her panties she is definitely  _ very _ attracted to him, and the memory of his cock rubbing against her though the layers of their clothes sends a fresh wave into her now sodden underwear), it was a combination of alcohol and poor choices that had tempted her to dance with Jon so  _ seductively _ . Brazen is not a word that anyone would use to describe Sansa. And then, to give Jon her cell phone number on a napkin she’d swiped while ordering them drinks and then hidden in her purse...well, she couldn’t blame alcohol for that.

  
  


She’d  _ so  _ wanted to invite Jon in for the night, since no doubt once Harry had read her text about going out, he would be out doing his own thing too. He was never one to wait at home for Sansa on the rare occasions she actually left the house to unwind with her friends.

 

Unlocking the front door to the house, Sansa slips in and quietly shut the door behind her, then leans back against it, releasing a shuddering sigh. Tears prick her eyes, and she berates herself for being so foolish.  _ I can’t let that happen again. I can’t be a fool like that in front of other people again. Jon just moved here to start a new life, I don’t want him to have a reputation that he had no choice in making. And if Harry found out what I’ve done...well, my plans would be for nothing. He would use that leverage to destroy me in divorce court, regardless of his own infidelities. No. I can’t let it happen that way. I must take control of this narrative. I won’t let Jon be used against me as blackmail. _

 

She walks down the darkened hall towards the kitchen, but stops outside the living room. Her blood runs cold at the sight of Harry dozing on the couch, sprawled beneath the Afghan she had knitted him last Christmas. The tv is playing the nightly news quietly, and she enters the room to shut it off. Harry stirs and stretches when the tv snaps off.

 

“Sansa? You’re home. Gods what time is it? I meant to stay awake to see you but I was just so tired after this week,” he groans blearily. In the muted light from the kitchen down the hall, she can see him stifling a huge yawn. She doesn’t have too guess too hard what he’d  _ been doing _ this week to make him so exhausted.

 

“Hello Harry, it’s about half-past ten, so not too late. Why are you home? I assumed you’d be out with your friends since I was out too,” she replies cautiously, flooded with relief that she hadn’t brought Jon Snow home after all. Harry seeing them together would have turned ugly very quickly, and she’s glad that Jon has too much honor to spend the night with a married woman, though it doesn’t lessen the sting of his gentle rejection.

 

“Well, I felt bad that I’ve barely been home these last few weeks and I wanted to make it up to you, although I could hardly say no when you said you wanted to go out for the evening. You need time with your friends as much as I do,” he states as though it’s obvious. She rolls her eyes, glad he can’t see it in the dark room.

 

_ I need time with some of my friends more than you know _ , she thinks but actually says, “You’re right, I didn’t know how much I needed to relax until I went out tonight.”

 

“Did you have a good time at least? Where did you and the birds end up going?”

 

Sansa is annoyed at him for calling her friends  _ birds _ , but keeps that to herself. “We went to A Drink for Crows and just had a few and danced. It was...nice. Myranda drove, so I’ll need you to take me to the school in the morning to pick up my car.” She’s glad he didn’t ask if anyone other than Jeyne and Myranda had been there. She moves to leave the room to finish her trek to the kitchen for water, but Harry stands and grabs her hand before she leaves.

 

She remembers a time when she was infatuated with Harry’s irreverent tongue, his genial nature, and his dashing good looks. He’d once been so good to her, so kind and sweet, but he’d grown more arrogant and rude the longer they were together. She’d once thought that she could fix his bad attitude, but she’d given up on that long before the news of his indiscretions had been revealed. Anyway, it wasn’t her job to fix a man with the attitude of a petulant teenager. She felt a curious mix of distaste and misplaced affection for the man she once thought she would happily spend the rest of her days with, who was currently holding her hand and looking at her with expectation in his eyes.

 

“Would you mind if I joined you? I feel awful for not even asking about how your first week back went. Do you want a cup of tea before we head to bed?” He’s asking her, but really he’s telling her that he would join her no matter what she says, so Sansa flashes a tight smile at him and says, “Sure Harry.”

 

Sitting at the small, square table in the kitchen with two steaming cups of chamomile tea before them, Harry gently prods her to talk about how the first week went. She tells him it was fine for the most part, notwithstanding the way Ramsay seemed to grow more and more sullen every day. 

 

Harry laughs a bit at her for being creeped out by an eleven year old, but he tells her he’s glad that at least she hadn’t blown her back to school budget on frilly things for her classroom again this year. That grits Sansa’s nerves, and she huffs out that it’s not like he’d even come to  _ see _ her classroom before it was mauled last year.

 

Harry notices her barb and sighs, softening his tone in his apology. “Sansa, I’m sorry I didn’t see it last year. I didn’t think you cared about my opinion on it, seeing as how I’m so shit with decorating,” he grins, winking cheekily at her before continuing, “if I had known how much it meant to you, I would have come straight away.”

 

She doubts the validity of his words but thanks him for the sentiment anyway.

 

“So, how are the wenches? How was their summer?” He changes the subject abruptly, seeing that Sansa is still clearly peeved about the subject of her classroom. 

 

It was a wrong move though, and she hisses through her teeth at him. “They are  _ not  _ wenches, they are  _ grown women with advanced degrees _ and should be talked of with respect.” She’s seething now, but Harry hold his hands up in front of him like a shield.

 

“Gods Sansa I’m sorry, I didn’t know that phrase annoyed you so much. I won’t call them that again, so let me rephrase, how are the grown women with advanced degrees? How was their summer?”

 

Sansa is still annoyed but managed to answer the question without vitriol. “They’re good, Jeyne went on holiday to Dorne for half the summer and Myranda visited her family in the Vale and learned how to competitively sail a skiff.” She is gripped by a sudden, sick urge to mention Jon in some way, just to see how Harry reacts, so she casually adds, “Neither of them can stop talking about some new male teacher in the school that they think is drop-dead sexy.” She watches his face, gauging his reaction to the news of a hot teacher, but he looks uninterested in this fact.

 

“Oh, are Jeyne and Beric not going together anymore?” He asks, not really committed to the question or the answer. Sansa’s surprised he even remembered that Beric and Jeyne had been seeing each other.

 

Sansa rolls her eyes. “They are, but that doesn’t mean that Jeyne’s eyes don’t work. She can still recognize a handsome face even if she goes home to Beric’s own handsome face every night,” she states in a matter-of-fact tone. She keeps her face as neutral as possible, but Harry’s eyes narrow as he studies her from across the table.

 

“And what about you, Sansa? Do you think the new teacher is, ah what was it? ‘Drop-dead sexy?’” His stare is withering and his tone has something dangerous behind it, but Sansa won’t let her mask slip; she won’t betray Jon or herself, even if what’s gone on between them amounts to rather less than what Harry had already put her through. She shrugs innocently and takes a long drink from her now lukewarm tea to wet her tongue, sticky as taffy with apprehension.

 

“I’ve not met him yet, his classroom is on the other side of the school from what I understand,” she lies smoothly, her voice thankfully giving nothing away. “It wouldn’t matter anyway if he was or wasn’t handsome, I’m married to you and I look at no one else in that way.” She knows she’s pushing her luck now, but to her satisfaction, she sees Harry pale ever so slightly.

 

“Y-yes, you’re right of course Sansa. It’s just that you’re so beautiful that I can’t imagine he wouldn’t want to snatch you away, married or not.” Harry quickly replies, clearly uncomfortable, and it only solidifies Sansa’s resolve to get out of this marriage. He’s deflecting his own infidelities and insecurities back onto her, and she is relishing the strange feeling of power that it gives her. But then he shocks her by asking something she’d hoped to never hear again after learning of the ways he’d abused her trust. She should have known that would never happen though.

 

“Will you make love with me tonight?” 

 

Sansa’s mouth is more arid than the deserts of Dorne now as she croaks out, “Wh-what?! Harry, I’m not really...”

 

“Come on Sansa, I just learned that there’s a hot new teacher somewhere in the vicinity of my gorgeous wife, and I’m more than a little jealous. I feel a need to claim my lovely wife as my own,” he responds teasingly but with a touch of desperation.

 

Sansa feels the bile rise in the back of her throat while she contemplates a way to get out of possibly having to endure Harry’s...ministrations, but can’t seem to find a way to beg off without alerting him to the lie she’s cautiously crafted. But after a long moment, she nods and says, “If it will make you feel better Harry, then sure.” She hates herself for acquiescing but knows better than to push her luck twice in one night. Besides, she’s always been a people pleaser, and she’s not about to stop now, especially if it will keep Harry from being suspicious of her.  _ How ironic that I’m now the one feeling guilty for doing less than he ever has. _

 

*****

 

After allowing Harry to paw clumsily at her for his  customary five minutes, she nudges him in the chest, nodding at him to begin. He enters her with a single thrust and a grunt, and Sansa closes her eyes against the tears of self-pity she feels pricking her eyes once more.

 

_ I could have been doing this with Jon by now. I should have been, instead of this chore with Harry. It would have been so much better….no I won’t think about him now. I can’t ruin the thought of him.  _ And then her mind goes painfully blank as she watches the spinning ceiling fan through unseeing eyes, waiting for what seems like a lifetime to hear Harry’s groan of self-satisfaction. Once it comes, he rolls off her and promptly falls asleep.

 

Sansa has never hated herself more than now, and it’s hours before she’s able to drift off to a restless sleep, a lump in her throat and a sticky discomfort between her legs.


	7. In The Day, Hearts Turn To Dust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updates, I was busy taking care my my sick little one and then my own sick self so it took me a while to get around to finishing up this chapter and posting it. Hope this makes up for it! <3

Saturday morning dawns bright and chilly, a slight breeze playing through the open windows of the bedroom. The air smells sweetly of apples and dry leaves, but the pounding in her head is what eventually brings Sansa out of her dreamless slumber. Wiping a hand down her face and knuckling the sand from her eyes, she vaguely remembered the events of the night before; the vagueness dissipates as she realizes to her abject horror that Harry is spooned behind her, a heavy arm draped possessively over her waist. Sansa all but shoots out of bed, and crossing the room to the closet, she grabs her dressing gown and ties it about her with slightly trembling hands. Now, she remembers.

 

Her vision blurs, and she resolves to herself that today, _finally_ , is the day that she will begin the process of ridding Harry from her life, for good. Sansa sees Harry’s prone form stir in the bed out of the corner of her eye, and she darts out the open bedroom door to the bathroom across the hall. Locking the door behind her carefully, she strips out of her dressing gown and surveys herself in the large, gilt-framed mirror that hangs from the back of the bathroom door.

 

Sansa has been confident in her appearance ever since she bloomed into puberty. She never really had to worry about all the typical trials of adolescence, having never had more than two or three stray spots to disrupt her otherwise porcelain skin, and being blessed with naturally straight teeth had meant that she’d never had to suffer through the embarrassments of orthodontics. It was as though she had gone to sleep an adorably childish thirteen year old one night, and then awoken the next morning as a beautiful, poised young woman. Of course, that wasn’t the reality, but coming into her own had been easy on her. Her own mother had even once said, without anything but pride, that Sansa would grow to be even more beautiful than her.

 

But now, seeing herself stark naked in front of the mirror, she feels older than her twenty-five years. The dark circles under her eyes and the dull mask of her pain and grief make her feel like a woman twice her age, no matter how curvaceous and firm her body is. She hates that she’s allowed this to happen to her, that she’s been so complacent with the last few years of her life. That’s not who she is, this isn’t what she had pictured for her life.

Seeing herself so diminished from her usual vivacity only hardens the steel of her resolve to get the _fuck_ out of this mistake of a marriage. But first, she has a few things to attend to.

 

Sansa retrieves her toothbrush from the medicine cabinet and globs far too much toothpaste onto it, and brushes her teeth with a ferocity that she knows will make her gums bleed but she couldn’t care less; she want the taste of Harry out of her mouth. Next on the agenda is a long, blisteringly hot shower. She’s glad for the half bathroom on the first floor that will keep Harry from picking the lock on the bathroom door while she’s in there, scrubbing his touch from her body until her skin is raw and red. She lathers shampoo into her hair once, twice, thrice, and then applies deep conditioner to her hair and covers it with a shower cap while she meticulously shaves her legs and armpits.

 

Sansa briefly considers shaving the hair covering her mound, but she’s always had a soft spot for the coppery curls there, and she refuses to let Harry have that kind of sway, even unknowingly, over the way she appreciates her body. Not that she will ever allow him to see her naked again. Not after last night.

 

She rinses the conditioner from her hair and the remaining shaving cream from her body and steps out of the shower into the humidity of the room. She is glad she can’t see her reflection in any of the fogged-over; she’s sure she’s red as a newborn babe, but her fresh skin will represent a fresh start; a skin that Harry will never touch again. Sansa combs out her long hair, careful to avoid snagging and breaking it in its wet state, then plaits it to keep it away from her face. She returns to the mercifully empty bedroom and dresses in comfortable clothes; she knows she will be more relaxed if she is swaddled in knits and cottons.

 

Heading down the stairs to the hall between the front door and kitchen, she smells freshly brewed coffee and the smoky smell of bacon and eggs. _Harry cooked breakfast for me?_ She wonders.

 

Harry looks up from the large plate of food he had been tucking in to, “Sansa! I, uhh, wasn’t sure when you’d be ready so I didn’t make any food for you.”

 

Sansa rolls her eyes, _I should have known he wouldn’t be so thoughtful._ But she replies coolly, “Never mind that Harry. Will you finish quickly so you can take me to pick my car up from school?”

 

“Of course, of course, I’ll just be a couple minutes. There’s coffee in the pot if you want some.”

 

Sansa busies herself at the coffee pot, finding a suitable travel mug to take along and pours a few few glugs of creamer in before pouring the piping hot coffee into the mug. She hopes that it will still be warm after this... _ordeal_ is over. She is already nervous, and at this point coffee would turn her to a jittery mess. She hears Harry’s chair scrape the floor as he rises and the clatter of cutlery on ceramic, but doesn’t turn to face him.

 

“Ready to go Sans?” Harry murmurs in her ear, jolting her from her thoughts. He places a hand on the small of her back and she stiffens, deftly rolling away from the contact. Looking back at him, she spies the plate still on the table and shoots him a withering look. “Oh, sorry, I’ll just put that in the sink and then we can be off.” He looks embarrassed but Sansa pays him no mind.

 

“I’m ready when you are Harry, I’ll be at the car.” Sansa picks out a jacket from the hall closet and grabs her purse from where she had placed it on the table in the hall the night before. She doesn’t look back once as she exits the front door and strides to the car, leaning against it in nervous anticipation. Harry leaves the house and locks the door behind him.

 

“Alright Sans, you’ll have to give me directions to the school, you know how shit I am with remembering my way around town.” Harry grins at her, clearly hoping she’ll enjoy his self-deprecation, but Sansa’s face is a mask of cool indifference.

 

“Of course, Harry.”

 

They drive towards the school with not a word passing between them but Sansa’s quiet directions. When they are about halfway there, Sansa decides it is finally, _finally,_ time to lay her cards on the table.

 

“Harry…” Sansa is teeming with anxiety and fear for how he would react to being outed as a philanderer; she had heard of stories where confronted adulterers had attempted to or successfully committed murder of the person who accused them of not being true to their marriage vows, but a quiet voice inside her told her that it was now, or never. She shores up her resolve, and continues, “I know about Cissy.”

 

“WH-WHAT?!” Harry shouts, the fear in his voice resounding in the cramped confines of the car. “Sansa, baby, I have no idea what you’re talking about! Who’s Cissy?! What are you on about?!” Sansa isn’t surprised by his denial, but continues on.

 

“I know you’ve been using PlentyOfKnights to cheat on me. I know you’ve been cheating for the past year, possibly longer. And I know that I am through putting up with your _bullshit_.” Her façade cracks on the last word, and her vision swims with unshed tears, but she will not allow Harry to see her spill them. “You’ve been going to the beds of however many other women, and I have proof of it. It’s not very bright of you to put your stupid face in dick pics, now is it, Harry?” Her voice is wavering, from anger, from pain, from shattered dreams. She looks Harry dead in the eye, challenging him to deny it.

 

“Sans, honey, I was lonely, I was afraid you didn’t love me anymore, you were always busy with work and it seemed like you didn’t care to spend time with me!” Harry’s eyes are shining too, his voice beseeching her to understand, but Sansa is far past the point of understanding. She’s so enraged by his pitiful excuses that she can’t even stop herself from what she does next.

 

She slaps him, hard, across his nearest cheek. The tears that had threatened to spill from them both are now coursing down their faces. She watches it happen as if she’s floating outside her body, outside the reality of the betrayal and pain.

 

“I am finished with your excuses Harry. If you felt that way, you should have come to _me_ , not seek out a stranger to give you what you so misguidedly thought I wasn’t. I was willing to give that to you! I loved you! And you USED ME!” Sansa roars in anger, unable to control any aspect of herself. “Now, I have nothing left for you but hate.”

 

Harry is sobbing, the force shaking his body like a leaf. Sansa wipes her cheeks as they pull into the school parking lot and pull up next to her car.

 

“Sansa please, I will do anything I can to earn your forgiveness. Please baby!” He beseeches her, grabbing both of her hands in his.

 

“No Harry, the time for forgiveness passed when you tried to pile your guilt for your infidelities onto me. The only thing I want from you now is a divorce. I am going to the clinic to get an STD screening, and by the time I get home, I want you gone. You are no longer welcome in my house, and if you attempt to contact me, I will contact the authorities and my lawyer, _my brother_ , will rip you apart. I never want to see you again.” She wrenches her hands from his grasp and snatches her purse and coffee from the car floor before opening the door and scrambling out, slamming the door behind her with all her might.

 

*****

 

Sansa is glad for the GPS in her car, as it means she has a way to get to the clinic without having to really think about where she is going. She knows it’s probably not safe for her to be driving in such a distressed state, but the catharsis of being rid of Harry once and for all compels her to keep going, so she can shut the door on that part of her life and move on as a free woman.

 

She’s at the clinic before she knows it, and hastily scrubbing her face free of any remaining tears, she checks her reflection in the rear view mirror. Her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, and the tip of her nose is raw from brushing away the last remnants of her sorrows. Sansa reckons that she looks a fright, but she’s once again reminded that she needs to do this, to make sure she is safe from any lasting damage Harry might have inflicted upon her without her knowledge. _I should have done this as soon as I knew he was cheating so I could confront him without these fears. But what’s done is done and what can be done now...is inside the doors of that clinic._

 

She pops the car door open and straightens her shoulders before walking into the clinic, knowing how she must look but holding her head high anyway. She approaches the reception desk, where a young woman in nurse’s scrubs is watching her approach with detached politeness.

 

“Hello, my name is Sansa Stark,” she declares to the nurse, with a faint quiver in her tone. The nurse’s eyes soften as she takes in Sansa’s disheveled appearance.

 

“Hello, Miss Stark. What can we do for you today?” The nurse has a hint of sympathy in her voice, understanding her need to be at the clinic so early on a Saturday if she looks like _that_ , and her calm and warm smile fortifies Sansa’s courage.

 

“I’m here to request an STD screen.”

 

The nurse’s calm smile fades, only to be replaced by a judgmental sneer. “I see, well Miss Stark, there are some papers you’ll need to fill out as well as a release to sign for the lab work before you’ll be seen.”

 

Sansa feels a bubble of panic rising in her chest, threatening to burst as the nurse begins to turn away to prepare the required paperwork, and she blurts out, “It’s because of my husband! He’s been cheating on me for ages and…” she sniffles against the tears that are forming once more, “and I need to know if he gave me anything. If I need to worry for my health or my future.” Her sob breaks on the last word, and the nurse quickly leaves her post behind the desk to rush around to Sansa, enveloping her in a gentle hug and shushing into her hair. Sansa cries harder at the sweet gesture.

 

“Oh you poor dear, everything is going to be alright. We will take care of you and if there is anything wrong we will do everything we can to cure you. Would you like to be shown to a room so you can have some privacy?” The nurse asks as she pulls away from Sansa. Sansa nods and reaches for a tissue on the reception desk, blowing her nose loudly, not giving a fig for who is there to see or hear her. The kindly nurse takes Sansa by the arm and leads her through the waiting room doors, down a long hallway lines with closed doors, to one door at the end. She opens the door and escorts Sansa inside.

 

It’s not the typical patient room, but clearly a physician’s office instead. Two plush leather armchairs sit in front of a vast mahogany desk littered with stray papers, small trinkets and a stethoscope. The walls are made of a similar dark wood, except the one behind the desk, which is a wall of windows framed on either side with gauzy curtains. Sansa can see a framed picture on the desk facing the wingback chair behind it, and she sinks gratefully down into the armchair on the right. She feels herself relax in the cozy atmosphere.

 

“Would you like a cup of tea while you wait for the doctor, dear? We only have black tea, I hope that’s alright.” The nurse is smiling warmly at her again, and Sansa nods again, not trusting her voice. “It’s not quite protocol to have patients in here before examination, but I’m sure Dr. Tarly will understand. She’s an excellent physician, and I’m sure she would be happy to counsel you before and after the testing is done.” She departs the room, and Sansa is left alone again with her thoughts. The nurse returns with the proffered cup of tea and leaves Sansa alone again. Her eyes wander over the trinkets on the desk; a tiny glass set of scales, a letter opener shaped like a miniature sword, and a small, carved granite rabbit are the personal effects that Sansa finds the most striking. She’s transfixed by the little rabbit when she hears the door click open softly.

 

Sansa turns in her seat and meets the brown eyes of a gentle looking young woman in a lab coat with light brown hair and a soft smile on her face. “You must be Dr. Tarly, please excuse my intrusion on your office.” She feels her cheeks redden as she remembers the reason why she’s here in the first place. Dr. Tarly comes fully into the room, closing the door behind her and seats herself in the chair behind the desk.

 

“Don’t fret Miss Stark, it’s no intrusion to counsel a patient in my office. I’ve heard from Nurse Crakehall that you have some cause for concern into your sexual health because of your husband’s…indiscretions?” Dr. Tarly asks of Sansa in a gentle tone, no trace of judgement in her words.

 

Sansa releases a shuddering sigh. “Yes Dr. Tarly. Apparently, he’s been cheating on me for at least a year if not longer, and I’m worried that he has given me a horrible momento to remember him by once we’ve officially divorced.” The words are sour as vinegar on her tongue and she forces herself to meet Dr. Tarly’s eyes as she finishes her short but sad declaration as to why she’s there.

 

“Well, the likelihood of him giving you something that we can’t at the very least manage if not cure is slim to none, assuming you’ve never exchanged your blood with his?” The doctor looks at Sansa with worry and care, not wanting to scare her but not shielding her from life’s harsh realities either.

 

Sansa shakes her head and says, “As far as I know, I’m safe on that front.”

 

Dr. Tarly’s warm smile is back as she says, “Alright then, if you’re up for it, would you like to go to the examination room to begin the screening process? We will be able to have the results within the hour if you can wait around to find out what they are, otherwise we can call you to let you know. You can finish the required paperwork while you wait, if you like.”

 

“Yes, that will be fine. I was hoping to have a longer stay here today anyway. I didn’t particularly want to go home immediately afterwards anyway,” Sansa agrees, smiling ruefully. Her thoughts turn to Harry for half a second as she wonders if he’s left the house for good by now. She mentally shakes herself from the thought of that cheating bastard.

 

“If you will follow me then, Miss Stark.”

 

Dr. Tarly leads Sansa down the hall just a few doors, and opens it to reveal a standard examination room, complete with informational posters and a raised bed covered with the customary sanitary paper. The doctor motions for Sansa to sit on the bed, and hands her a shift from the cupboard over the sink. “I’ll leave so you can change. All your clothes must come off, except your socks. I know it’s a bit nippy in here, my apologies for that.” She gives Sansa a small smile and leaves her to undress.

 

Sansa strips off the soft cotton leggings, jersey tee shirt and her bra and panties before donning the open-backed shift. She quickly ties the strings at the back of the shift just as Nurse Crakehall returns to the room.

 

“Miss Stark, I’m here to read your blood pressure and check that all your bodily functions are normal before Dr. Tarly begins the procedure.” She declares while picking up the blood pressure cuff from its spot hanging along one wall. She straps the cuff around Sansa’s bicep and squeezes the bulb until it’s at pressure, then waits for the the reading she’s looking for before releasing the air pressure. She continues her ministrations until all the necessary vitals have been taken, and she gives Sansa a soft smile before she departs the room.

 

Sansa allows herself to take a deep breath, and her tumultuous thoughts crash around her. _What do I do after this? Should I call Robb straight away? Should I go home first to see if Harry is still lingering about? What would I do if he’s still there? Maybe I should just go shop for a while until I can safely assume he’s gone…_ Her thought chase each other in circles until Dr. Tarly opens the door again, pushing in a cart topped with swab sticks, test tubes and a speculum. Sansa feels her apprehensions fight each other for dominance, but forces a smile at the doctor.

 

“Alright Sansa, I’m going to have you lay back on the table and place your heels in the stirrups I’m about to pull out.” Dr. Tarly says before swinging out the contraptions from just underneath the bed. Sansa reclines and places her feet in the stirrups, scooting her bottom towards the edge of the bed. She feels quite exposed when a cool breeze brushes her feminine parts, and stifles a shudder.

 

“Don’t worry Sansa, I’ll be exceedingly gentle. The speculum will be cold, just so you’re aware.” Dr. Tarly says from somewhere between Sansa’s legs, her face hidden by the thin shift. Sansa’s face is burning as the cool instrument slips between her lower lips and cranks her open enough to allow for the swab sticks she feels next. It feels like a long time passes before Dr. Tarly’s head pops up from behind the shift. “There we are, I’ll just pack these up and leave you to dress.” She places each swab in its own separate tune before wheeling the cart back out and closing the door.

 

Sansa slips out of the shift and places it in a laundry basket in the corner of the room and shrugs her clothes back on, then seats herself in the lone chair in the room. She checks her phone and sees a text from Harry. Her heart stops as she reads the brief message.

 

 **Harry:** I’ve packed my things and gone to a hotel. Please call me if you reconsider what you said before.

 

Sansa closes out of the message and shuts her eyes against the throb in her temples that threatens to make her cry for yet another time today. She picks up the clipboard filled with medical documents she needs to fill out before she leaves the clinic, and she finishes just in time to hear a soft rap at the door. Dr. Tarly pokes her head in the door once again before fully entering.

 

“Good, you’re dressed. We have the preliminary results back, and as far as we can tell, you’re free from any disease. We will culture the samples and let you know if anything further comes from it, but usually the initial testing catches anything that would be cause for alarm.” Dr. Tarly offers, giving Sansa a heartfelt smile. Sansa’s eyes prick and cloud and she lets loose a sob of relief.

 

“Thank you, Dr. Tarly. I’m so grateful to you for everything you’ve done for me today.” She chokes out between halting breaths.

 

“Of course Sansa, it was my pleasure to ease your mind. Please, come back any time you need assistance.” And with that, Dr. Tarly leaves the room. Sansa picks up her purse and jacket and exits the room. She’s on her way out of the clinic and to her car when she feels her phone buzz in her purse. Fishing it out, she’s confused by the number calling her. _An area code different from Winterfell? Maybe it’s…_ She pushes the call button and hold the phone to her ear. “Hello? This is Sansa Stark.”

 

“ _Sansa? It’s Jon. How are you feeling today? Were you alright last night?”_ Jon’s voice is rough through the phone, full of concern.

 

“Jon…” she breathes. She can hardly believe the luck at his timing. “Y-yes, I’m alright, but…”

 

Jon must hear the hesitance in her voice because his next words are, “ _Can I pick you up later to talk? You sound upset but if you don’t want me to I’ll…_ ”

 

Sansa cuts him off with a breathless, “YES! Yes, please, I don’t think I could bear to be alone tonight.”

 

Jon chuckles into the phone, and asks, “ _Is five too early to come get you?_ ”

 

“No, that’s perfect Jon, I’ll see you then,” she replies with a smile she is sure he can hear.

 

“ _Alright sweet girl, I’ll see you then. Dress casually, I have a fun place in mind for us._ ”

 

“Okay Jon, see you then.” With that, they say their goodbyes and hang up. With a spring in her step that she hadn’t imagined she would be able to muster on a terrible day like today, Sansa opens her car door and turns the engine on, ready to go home to her mercifully empty house.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless plug again! If you like this fic, follow me over on tumblr @tentacruels, I post Jonsa crack and memes. Leave a comment or kudos if you are enjoying this story, it gives me that sweet, sweet motivation to keep it going! Kisses to you, my lovely Jonsa family <3


	8. Say It & Mean It

Jon wakes up on Saturday morning with a slight hangover, a creeping guilt and a raging hard on. The night before, he had barely managed to make it into his bathroom for a cold shower before jerking himself off to thoughts of Sansa grinding against his thigh, feeling like some kind of deviant for being so attracted to a woman he clearly _couldn’t_ have. After the shower, he had tumbled into bed, his thoughts waging war against one another.

 

 _Why would she give me her number? Should I call her? Should I not? She seemed...eager to spend more time with me, but...what about her husband? She seemed more than a bit scared at the thought of not finding her purse, was she scared of what he would do? That’s not right, she should never have to fear the man she’s married to…_ The more he thought on the situation, the angrier he became. Of course fate would tempt him with a married woman, as if he hadn’t been unlucky enough in love before he met her. _Why? Why me? Why her? Why does she have to be married for Seven’s sake?_ He had slept fitfully, dreaming of Sansa on the first day he had seen her, so demure yet so, so sexy. His dreams had consisted of doing all manner of filthy things to her in her classroom, in his bed, on his kitchen counter; it’s not surprising in the least that he has woken up in the state he is currently in.

 

He tries to sit up from his bed, but the hangover in combination with the amount of blood in his cock makes him dizzily fall back against his pillows. _Ugh, first the dreams and now I have to deal with_ this _?_ He thinks absentmindedly, his hand snaking to grip his shaft. _I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to think of Sansa again…maybe this will help clear my head._ He pictures the way she had looked at him on the dance floor the previous night, lips parted, eyes darker than the ocean during a new moon, her hot center rubbing _just so_ against his thigh…

 

He comes, hard, into his hand.

 

It doesn’t help, really, but he does decide that he would call her later to see how she’s doing.

 

He gets out of bed and makes his way to the bathroom for a long, hot shower, where he tries and fails to not think of how wonderful it would be to have her in there with him, her smooth hands rubbing his chest with soap and then slipping lower and lower still...he realizes he is once again stroking himself, and gives up on not picturing the myriad ways he wants to love her.

 

After drying off and dressing in dark jeans and a grey sweater, he makes his way to the living room where Ghost is standing at the front door, whining to be let outside. Jon feels a twinge of guilt for keeping his best friend waiting for so long while he indulged his own needs.

 

“Sorry boy, I’ll just grab your lead and then we can head out. I’ll get your breakfast when we come back.” He clasps the lead to Ghost’s collar and they head out into the crisp morning air. Outside of his flat, he feels refreshed and the thoughts that had been plauging him temporarily slip away. They take their usual route though the neighborhood to the dog park, where they are mercifully alone. He’s glad that no one else is there; occasionally he receives glares from other dog owners because Ghost is so large and can play a bit roughly. Even though Jon knows Ghost would never harm another dog, he’s glad to be free of those looks all the same.

 

They play fetch for a while, Ghost running off his excess energy, and as they head back towards the flat, Jon notices a car driving by on the road. He stops, dumbfounded, as the car draws closer. _No, that’s just my eyes playing tricks on me because I’ve been thinking of her all morning…_ But no, it really _is_ Sansa in the car, with a man he assumes must be her husband. She doesn’t notice Jon or Ghost, as she looks to be shouting at the man driving. _Harry_. Jon feels a bubble of anger in his gut, wondering what Harry had done to deserve Sansa’s ire so early in the morning. As they pass by, he turns to watch them head into the distance, feeling shaken.

 

He urges Ghost up to a jog and they return home, Jon’s heart beating erratically in his chest. Now he isn’t so sure that calling Sansa would be in either of their best interests, and curses himself for his cowardice. _No, I definitely need to call her now, to make sure she’s not hurt...but I will give her time to calm down first._

 

He grabs Ghost’s food from the pantry and shakes the kibble into the bowl before filling the water dish. Ghost has already demolished most of the food by the time he places the bowl back onto the mat, and goes about fixing his own breakfast of eggs on toast. _What can I do to make her feel better?_ He muses to himself while he chews. _I can’t very well just fuck her into forgetting her problems...although I’d certainly give it my best shot._

 

Jon cleans up his plate and pan, and saunters into the living room to flop down onto the couch, hoping he can find something on tv to distract him from thinking of Sansa for a while. There’s a footie match on between Vale United and Sunspear FC, and he loses himself to the game for a while, shouting at the players from Vale who keep bumbling the ball to Sunspear’s strikers. At halftime, he finally feels compelled to call Sansa, thinking enough time has probably passed that she wouldn’t mind him calling. He goes to his room to retrieve the napkin from the night before, smoothing it out on his bureau before typing the number into his cell, hesitating for a moment before deciding to just go ahead and save her number. “Sansa the Goddess Incarnate” is what will now pop across the screen, should she ever decide to call him. He grins to himself, thinking about what a besotted fool he would look like if she ever happened to catch a glimpse of the name. _Not that she would ever call me, but maybe she would think it’s funny._

 

Sansa picks up on the second ring.

 

“Jon…” she says breathily through the receiver, the sound sending a shiver down his spine and straight into his cock. He’s not surprised that she has that effect on him, even through the phone, and his mind wonders if that’s how she would sound if he was licking and sucking at the apex of her long, long legs… He snaps himself out of it long enough to ask if she would mind company that night. He’s pleased to her her answer in the affirmative, but the sadness he can hear as she says she doesn’t want to be alone stifles his lusty thoughts. They agree to have him pick her up at five, and say their goodbyes. After they hang up, Jon hopes that she’s alright with a night of arcade games.

 

*****

 

Four o’clock rolls around before he knows it, and Jon takes Ghost outside one last time before refilling his water and food. He is standing in front of his wardrobe, pondering what he should wear to take Sansa out on a Not-a-Date-but-Kind-of-a-Date. He finally decides on the jeans he had already been wearing, along with a black, short-sleeved button up and a grey cardigan as the weather had gotten colder the closer it got to sunset. He picks his keys and wallet up from his nightstand, before sending a quick text to Sansa as he heads out the door to his car. She replies with her address, and he punches it into his GPS before heading off.

 

It’s only a ten minute drive to Sansa’s house, but it gives Jon enough time to work himself into a nervous frenzy. He’s never been particularly emotive with women, who usually spook him into reticence, but he hopes that won’t be the case with Sansa. He wants to get to know her better, even if it’s just as a friend, and he hopes that a fun atmosphere like the bar he has in mind will be enough to calm his nerves.

 

He pulls into the driveway of her house, and admires the cute little cottage for the first time in the daylight as he exits his car and makes his way to the front door. Last night it had been too dark to notice the light yellow of the clapboard exterior, or the flower-and-vine-covered arch over the front walk that is gated with a short white picket fence. The slate grey roof beautifully contrasts the white trim of the small front porch that houses a rocker near the pale green front door and a hanging swing on the other end. Flower pots overflowing with orange and gold chrysanthemums in full bloom flank the steps to the house, and Jon stops to brush his hand against their soft petals. _If ever a house reflected its owner, it’s this house with Sansa: sweet, comfortable-looking, and charming._

 

Jon walks up the short set of steps to the front door and raps lightly with the door knocker shaped like a sunflower. It’s only a few seconds until he hears the lock unlatch, and Sansa opens the door to him, a wide smile on her face. Jon is stunned into silence. She looks _glorious_. Her cheeks are a rosy pink to match her perfect lips, and her eyelashes flutter gently above her sparkling blue eyes, eyes he could easily get lost in if he looks too long. Her hair is down, and brushed to the most shining copper-gold, like gossamer in the sunrise. Her cerulean wrap dress falls to her knees and displays a modest amount of her perfect breasts, and the dainty gold flats on her feet make her legs seem like long pillars of the purest marble carved by the gods themselves. She notices his gaping mouth, and smiles all the wider.

 

“Hello Jon, would you like to come inside? I was just finishing up getting ready, and then we can go,” she says as she steps to the side, beckoning  with her hand to invite him in.

 

“Uhh, is-isn’t your husband home?” He inquires, stuttering, much to his embarrassment. He can’t believe he’s brought up _him_ of all people, but Sansa quips with a dry laugh that, “No Harry won’t be home, thank the gods.”

 

Jon ventures further into Sansa’s home as she dashes back upstairs, and finds the living room off to his left. He sinks down in one of the armchairs and looks around the room at the photos of Sansa and Harry on the walls and mantle above a small fireplace. _So that was definitely Harry in the car with her earlier._ They looked so happy in their wedding photos, Sansa radiant in her wedding dress, Harry with a roguish grin on his handsome face. Jon wonders what had gone so wrong, to the point of Sansa being willing to flirt with him so ostentatiously. Not that he isn’t glad for it, but it still gives him an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He hopes that she will be willing to talk about it tonight, but if not, he’s willing to wait until she’s ready.

 

Jon hears Sansa’s footsteps on the stairs again, much slower this time. He turns his head as she enters the living room and walks to the mantle, placing a delicate finger on the photo Jon had just been pondering over. “This feels like an eternity ago,” she finally says quietly, breaking the leaden silence in the room. “I would never have thought my life would go this way…”she trails off before looking to Jon in the armchair. He rises from the seat and crosses the room to her, just far enough away to stop himself from pulling her to his chest.

 

“Sansa, if you want to talk about it, I’m here for you,” he whispers to her, remembering the heartbroken, angry look on her face that he had seen in the car earlier in the day. “But if you aren’t ready, I’ll wait until you are.”

 

Sansa turns to him with a small smile on her face, lower lip quivering slightly. “Thank you, Jon. That means so much to me. If not today...then soon,” she finishes with a soft determination coloring her voice. Jon smiles back at her, and now he can’t resist the urge to touch her. He reaches out and grabs hold of her hand, gently stroking her knuckles with the pad of him thumb.

 

“Are you ready to go, sweetheart? I’ve got somewhere fun in mind for tonight, if you’re up for it.” He smiles gently at her, reassuring her again that he will take whatever boundaries she sets for them.

 

“That sounds lovely, let me just get my jacket and then we can be off,” she replies, squeezing his hand in return.

 

They drive to Winterfell’s small but quaint downtown, where there is a lively scene of people flitting between the various bars and eateries that litter the main thoroughfare. Jon pulls up in front of the arcade bar, Brothers in Black, and looks to Sansa with a hint of anxiety, hoping that she won’t think he’s _too_ much of a geek for bringing her here. But her eyes are sparkling with mirth, and a slow grin breaks across her beautiful lips as she registers where it is that he’s brought her.

 

“Oh Jon, I’ve been wanting to come here for ages! My brother Robb talks about this place all the time, he says it’s got all the good classic games and skeeball and pool. He comes here to blow off steam from his job, but how did you know this was here?” She inquires, looking at the bar front where a lively crowd is gathered outside waiting for the doors to open for the evening.

 

Jon shrugs and says, “I was pretty lonely the first few weeks I was here, and being the unabashed video game aficionado I am, they had most of my spare change before I knew it.” He grins broadly at her, the infectious enthusiasm she’s radiating causing his previous anxieties to dissipate.

 

“Well I hope your ready for a night of embarrassment, _nerd_ , because I will crush you into the dust at PacMan!” Sansa laughs, with a teasing lilt in her words making them sound musical.

 

They join the throng outside the bar, and after they’re inside, Jon takes the liberty of ordering a gin and tonic for Sansa and a Guinness for himself. The bar is almost unlit except for the glow of the various games lining the walls on three sides. There are four pool tables in the middle of the room, and Jon is struck suddenly by a wicked thought. “Would you like to start with a game of pool?” He leans in close to her ear, the better to make himself heard over the sounds of game themes and _pew-pew-pews_ coming from one of the hunting games, and places the hand that had just been holding his cool glass on the small of Sansa’s back, rubbing small circles with his thumb. She shivers lightly; whether from the sensation of his hand on her back, or the coolness of his hand, or perhaps a combination of both, Jon isn’t sure, but he feels pleased all the same.

 

“Ugh, you _would_ pick the one thing I’m not great at to start out with. I’m warning you Jon Snow, don’t let your inevitable victory inflate your head, because I’ll have it back down to normal size before you know it,” Sansa laughs again, batting a hand gently against his chest.

 

They walk to the nearest free table, and after setting up the pool balls for the game, Jon allows Sansa to make the break. _Excellent view from here,_ he thinks smugly as she bends over the pool table, _miles of leg and just a touch of cleavage on display._ He wonders when he had become so salacious, but thinking back on the first day he had seen Sansa, it’s no surprise honestly; she’d been the moon to his ocean from the very first day he had met her, pulling him to her without even realizing it. Sansa scratches on the break, and then it’s Jon’s turn, striking in a solid ball on his first hit.

 

They take turns, and as much as Sansa had said she wasn’t good at pool, Jon is pleasantly surprised that she’s actually quite decent, keeping him on his toes for the entirety of the game. He wins, but just barely, as Sansa has only one more striped ball left on the table before he hits the eight ball into a center pocket. “Good game, Snow,” she whispers as she passes by, a hand lingering on his shoulder. “What should we do now? Another round, or are you ready to lose to me at PacMan?” Her lips are quirked, her eyes glimmering in the dim lighting as they look into his own, before flicking briefly down to his lips. Jon feels his mouth dry out instantly, and gulps a hasty swing of his beer before responding, “We can do whatever you like, Stark.”

 

Sansa takes him by the hand and leads him to the PacMan game, taking player one while he takes player two. Sansa does, indeed, thoroughly trounce him at the game, but Jon’s never been more glad to lose, if it means that Sansa will keep smiling at him like _that._ They play best two out of three at skeeball, where Sansa wins again, and Jon is just about to ask which game she wants to play next, when Sansa’s stomach growls loudly enough to be heard over the sounds of the bar, and she claps a hand to the flat of her belly and smiles sheepishly at him.

 

“Well, I was going to ask what you wanted to do next, but I think your stomach has a plan of it’s own! Want to get out of here to grab a bite?” Jon inquires, hitching a thumb towards the door.

 

“Yes definitely! I didn’t even realize I was hungry until now, want to go to Hot Pie’s? It’s just down the street and they have the best pizzas, hands down,” she replies before grabbing her purse and shrugging on her jacket.

 

They head back out into the evening, the air significantly colder than the afternoon had been. Sansa shivers slightly, and Jon pulls her closer to his warmth with an arm slung gently over her shoulders. It’s a short walk down the still bustling street to Hot Pie’s, where almost all the booths and tables are full of late-night revelers. A waitress shows them to a small booth near the back of the restaurant and leaves them to peruse the menu in peace. They decide to split a chicken pizza with tomatoes, peppers, and onions, and each of them order a drink called a “Seven’s Slush” to occupy them until the food arrives.

 

When the waitress brings their drinks to the table, Sansa can barely contain her giggles. The cups that the drinks came in were huge, and tackily fashioned to look like the faces of the Seven. She sipped at her straw to calm herself, but she was still chuckling when she commented, “I know this place is known for being a bit cheeky but aren’t these a little...sacreligious?” Jon had to laugh at that.

 

“I suppose so, but I’m sure it’s all meant in good fun. Do you keep the new gods?” He asks politely, hoping she isn’t offended by a somewhat divisive topic. Jon himself had been raised in the faith of the Old Gods of the Weirwood trees, but had fallen out of faith in the last few years of his life. He knows there are many in Winterfell that still worship the Old Gods, but the New Gods are just as popular, if not moreso.

 

“My mother keeps the New, but my father kept the Old, so I was raised with a mixture of both but I can’t say that I’m particularly convinced by either of them. There’s something to be said for doing things based on a sense of right and wrong, and not because you feel compelled by a higher power,” she finishes, twisting the wrapper of her straw deftly between her fingers. “You've got to admit though, if they looked like the Harpy or the Great Stallion, somebody somewhere would raise all seven hells. Not that they'd be wrong, it's just a hilarious choice for an establishment like this,” Sansa says breezily between slurps on her straw. Jon gulps down some of his own too-sweet drink just to distract himself from the way Sansa’s pretty lips looked wrapped around the straw. “What about you?”

 

“My mother raised me in the ways of the Old Gods, but like you I can’t say that I was ever really sure that any of the religions were the right one. My mother was the only thing keeping me tied to any kind of faith but…” Jon peters off and looks down at the table, remembering the hopelessness that had engulfed him when his mother had died the summer before he was set to leave for university. He quickly searches for a new topic to distract himself from the creeping sadness, and settles on asking, “So, how long have you been teaching then?”

 

“This is only my second year, but I student taught at Winterfell Middle while I was finishing up my Master’s degree, and Principal Tyrell  liked me so much that she offered me a job at the end of the year,” she said, shrugging to hide her proud smirk. “I had never really considered teaching anywhere else, I've lived in Winterfell my whole life, aside from attending university in White Harbor, and I was all too ready to move back here when my student teaching year arrived. White Harbor smells like birdshit and fish.” She shudders delicately. “What about you? You aren't from Winterfell, I would have definitely noticed you before now if you were,” she finishes with a wolfish grin at Jon.

 

“I'm actually from Queenscrown, but I've spent the past couple of years as a teacher on the Arbor. It was alright but I'm far too northern for that relentless southern sun, I mean, just look at how pale I am! I spent a literal _fortune_ on sun cream and aloe vera while I was there, so when I saw a job posting for Winterfell Middle, I sent out my resumé like _that_ ,” he said, snapping his fingers for emphasis. “I considered moving back to Queenscrown, but there are just too many memories there. My mum raised me there by herself, but she got sick during my third year of secondary school, and passed the summer before I left for university.” He suddenly feels overcome with his previously suppressed emotions. “She made me promise that no matter what, I would go to school, pursue whatever I wanted, and make a solid life for myself, so...how could I deny my mum her last wish?”

 

He smiles sadly at the thought of his once beautiful, strong mother looking so... _wilted, defeated_ in her hospital bed. He had been staring at the table and fiddling with a napkin when he started talking about Queenscrown and his mother, but looks up in surprise when Sansa reaches across the table to grasp both of his hands tightly in her own, tears streaming down her cheeks.

 

“Jon, I am so incredibly sorry to hear about your mother. I can tell that you loved her _so much_ , I can't even imagine the pain that you've felt, and a such a young age…” she shakes her head as a fresh wave of tears slide out of the corners of her eyes and takes a shuddering breath. “You have been so strong for so long, and I know, _I know_ , that your mum would be so proud to see the man that you've become.” She squeezes his hands tightly and gives him a watery smile.

 

Jon feels his own vision blurring, and before he can  stop himself, he’s crying too.

 

“It's been so hard, all these years, to push myself to finish school and be completely, utterly independent. I’ve always second guessed myself, and it’s just...I have no other living family so I kind of just….bottled everything up, until I dumped it all in your lap just now. Sorry about that, love,” he grumbles past the lump in his throat. Jon gives a shaky laugh and returns Sansa’s squeeze.

 

“Well,” she says, wiping her eyes with a napkin, “I’m sure that everything here in Winterfell will work out for the best. You have a good heart, anyone can see that. I’m glad I know you, and I want to help you any way that I can.” Sansa releases Jon’s hands, and lets out another shuddering breath. “Now tell me, what else do you like to do for fun?”

 

They carry on their conversation about their hobbies, with Jon making a mental note of Sansa’s love for painting and drawing, until their pizza arrives. Jon studies Sansa while she eats, making sure to file away the way she moans appreciatively when she happens to catch a cherry tomato from the pizza popping in her mouth, and licking her lips afterwards. _Keep it together, man, this is just a fun night between friends,_ he thinks to himself, before the darker side of his mind adds, _but you’ll have your hands all over her before the night’s over, if you play your cards right._ Jon is slightly disgusted with himself for even thinking that way but he can’t really even be mad at himself for it. It’s not like he hasn’t been thinking about it for most of the evening, after all.

 

After Jon pays the bill and they are walking slowly back to his car, he throws an arm around Sansa again, causing her to give him an inquisitive look.

 

“What?” He asks innocently. “It’s cold out and I would hate for you to catch your death because of _this_ ,” and he leans his free hand across to pluck at the skirt of Sansa’s dress. She throws her head back and laughs long and loud.

 

“Jon Snow, if I didn’t know better, I would think that you just wanted a reason to touch me,” she jokes, but a look passes between them, and suddenly that _tension_ from the bar the previous night is back, even more powerful than before. “Would you, erm, like to come into mine for a nightcap when we get back?” She asks, clearly hoping that he will say yes.

 

“Sansa, I’d like nothing more,” he agrees quickly, then hates himself a little bit for asking but he has to know for sure, “And you’re completely certain that your...husband won’t mind?” He hesitates for a fraction of a second before looking down at her, but she’s meeting his gaze with a wicked glint in her eyes that almost takes his breath away.

 

“Oh no, Jon. He won’t mind.”

 

They get into Jon’s car, and drive off into the night.

 

*****

 

 

This is the inspiration for Sansa's house, in case anyone was curious :)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating will change next chapter ;)


	9. So This Heart Learns to Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been 84 years (a month) but I hope that this chapter is okay??? It’s been sitting in my drafts for like two weeks just waiting to be posted and I finally mustered up the courage to post, hope it’s alright!!

Jon is quiet on the way back to her house, and in the silence Sansa feels comfortable. Jon had reassured her earlier that he wouldn’t press her to share anything before she’s ready, and Sansa is grateful for his patience. She had such a lovely time with him earlier at the bar and then later at dinner, and the companionship they had enjoyed had lulled her into a sense of contentment that she hasn’t felt in years. She reaches across the gap between them to grasp his free hand, and the spark that passes between them just from holding onto him only solidifies the feeling. Sansa resolves to tell Jon everything that has happened to bring her to this point; she doesn’t want him to feel guilty or unsure about whatever it is that is brewing steadily between them. Jon turns to her at a stoplight, and the softness in his eyes causes her belly to flutter, but when he smiles at her, a full blown grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes, a bloom of warmth spreads from her head down to her toes.

 

_ That smile completely melts me, how can he look so sweet and so sexy at the same time?  _ Sansa wonders. After just a few short minutes they arrive back at her house and Jon pulls the car into the driveway. He hops out of his seat before Sansa can even completely register that they’ve stopped, lost in her thoughts as she is, and Jon opens her car door with a hand extended to help her out of the passenger seat. 

 

“Thanks Jon, but you really don't have to do that,” she says to him once she’s out of the car, but at the same time his small display of chivalry has her melting into a puddle all over again.

 

“I know, but I wanted to, Sansa,” he states simply, giving her a small smile. He allows her to lead the way up the short sidewalk to the front door, a hand ghosting along the small of her back. Sansa unlocks the front door of the house, and they step into the cool darkness of the hallway beyond. A slight chill runs through her at the thought of having Jon in the house, alone, and she ventures to think that it’s a shiver of anticipation.

 

“Come on in and make yourself at home, I’ve got a bar cart in here if you want another drink,” she says before walking into the living room. She flicks on a switch that turns on the floor lamp in the corner of the room, and appreciates the sight of Jon suffused by the soft golden glow. He looks statuesque in the light, and Sansa can’t help but appreciate the ethereal vision he presents in his tight jeans and soft cardigan like some kind of dark angel, with his curly hair loose and looking ever so touchable. Sansa goes to the bar in the far corner of the room. “Is whiskey okay? I also have water or beer if you wanted that instead.”

 

“A whiskey would be great Sansa, thanks,” she hears him say from somewhere behind her, his voice slightly hoarse when he speaks. Sansa wonders if he’s as nervous as she is. She pours out a healthy amount of the amber liquid into a short glass, and fixes herself a second glass of the same. She’s always found whiskey to be a little strong for her taste, but she figures it will steel her nerves for what she’s about to tell him. At the last minute, she grabs the decanter and brings it over to where Jon is sitting on the couch that Harry had occupied not twenty-four hours past, and sets the bottle on the coffee table. She sits delicately on the couch next to Jon, and hands one of the glasses to him. They both take a sip, Jon clearly savoring the flavor while Sansa grimaces slightly at the taste of the neat liquor.

 

Sansa turns slightly towards him and pauses for a moment to sip her whiskey again, unsure of where to begin. Before she has a chance to speak, Jon reaches over to squeeze her hand gently, then stands rather abruptly and moves over to the fireplace in front of them. He fiddles with some logs and a few bits of kindling that she had thought to bring in earlier, and before she knows it, there’s a hot fire blazing behind the grate, warming the blood that’s pounding in her cheeks, and he returns to the couch, a bit closer to Sansa this time.

 

“I hope it’s alright that I started a fire, it’s just that it’s getting colder at night and it’s a little cool in here already,” Jon states, looking for her approval at the small liberty he’s taken with ensuring her comfort. Sansa nods at him, a soft smile gracing her lips before she clears her throat and reaches for Jon’s hand again as she begins. 

 

“So I’m guessing you want to know why I was flirting with you last night. To be honest, I don’t really know why I was acting like that either, that’s not really… _ me _ .” Her thoughts wander briefly to how she had behaved at the club, in a way that was so unlike her usual poise and sophistication, and how Jon had returned her impassioned stare with just as much heat while she ground against him, and the words he had whispered in her ear about sitting on his lap. She knows that he turned down her offer of a dance floor makeout session for the right reasons, and she’s glad that he had the good sense to make sure no one saw them, all things considered. 

 

“I’ve been interested in you ever since the first time I saw you during the pre-school year meeting. I wanted to get to know you better, however I could.” She blushes when she thinks of the way her body had reacted so unexpectedly, almost violently, to seeing Jon for the first time. It had been like a magnet had buried itself in Sansa’s heart and drawn her to him, always pulling and never pushing, despite the circumstances that should have put her off of him.

 

“I could say the same about you, Ms. Stark,” Jon says through a small laugh, his lusciously dark eyes watching her, waiting for whatever it is she wants to say next. He takes a healthy swig from his glass and Sansa does the same, feeling another rush of blood into her cheeks at his response, wondering what he could mean by that and trying her hardest not to get her hopes up. She knows that she needs to be cautious with the broken fragments of her heart that Harry left for her, but with Jon, she feels safe, she feels  _ whole.  _ She needs to tell Jon the entire truth of the situation, and allow him to decide what to make of it.

 

“To be  _ rather stark _ ...” she continues, mimicking herself from the first time they officially met, feeling her nerves calm as recognition and amusement glint in Jon’s eyes at her turn of phrase. “Harry and I have been on the rocks for a long time. He’s been too busy to actually spend time with me for a while now. I had a lot of homework in grad school and then the student teaching year was a ton of work. And now I just always have a ton of paperwork I have to do outside of school hours, being a specialist and all…” she tapers off. Jon gives her a small nod of encouragement, and she is heartened by the gesture. 

 

They knock back their last swallows of whiskey and Sansa unstoppers the decanter again, pouring more whiskey into her glass before asking Jon if he wants more too. He does, and they both sit there in silence for a minute, sipping thoughtfully. Sansa’s mind is beginning to swim a bit but she pours out a third glass for herself.  _ We’ve already drank a quarter of the bottle but if I’m going to be drunk then I might as well be really drunk. It’s probably going to take the rest of this bottle to get through this whole discussion.  _ Jon’s glass is still about half full, but she offers him more all the same. He looks at her, a little surprised, but accepts and throws the whole thing down his throat. Now it’s Sansa’s turn to look surprised, and Jon bursts into a full-bellied laugh at her expression.

 

“I figured I needed to catch up to you, Stark,” he says, grinning cheekily at her. Now it’s Sansa’s turn to laugh, and an idea comes to her slightly sodden brain. She knows it’s probably not the  _ best _ idea she’s even had, but if it will loosen both of them up, then what’s the harm?

 

“How about a fun little game, Snow? I will tell you what’s going on but I’m a bit nervous, you know?” Sansa asks, hoping he’s up for a little lighthearted fun. 

 

“Why do I have a feeling that you’re going to make me play strip poker?” He teases with a laugh.

 

Sansa laughs again, feeling a little giddy from the whiskey. “No nothing like that you weirdo! I was thinking twenty questions, but if you’re down for strip poker later…” she leaves the offer hanging in the air. Jon visibly gulps, his eyes wide as he laughs again. Sansa could definitely get used to hearing him laugh like that, and she lays out the rules for them.

 

They each have to think of something from their past, a person, place, or thing, and they can each only ask yes or no questions to find out what the other is thinking of, although they can explain a bit to help the other out. If a question is answered with a no, the asker has to take a shot, but if it’s a yes then the one being asked had to take a shot. Whoever loses has to take two shots. Sansa figures this will make quick work of the rest of the whiskey, and goes to grab a couple shot glasses from the bar. Jon’s eyes are glittering mischievously, and Sansa is already thinking of the wicked little story that she will let Jon ask about.

 

“Okay Snow, you first,” she says when she returns to the couch, plopping the shot glasses down on the coffee table and pouring the whiskey.

 

“Alright Stark, are you thinking of a person?” Jon asks as he eyes the shot glasses in front of them. 

 

“Ugh, yes!” Sansa rolls her eyes, but picks up hers to take the shot. She throws it back quickly, smacking her lips in appreciation, glad that it’s going down easier than the first dozen sips. “Are  _ you  _ thinking of a person?”

 

Jon chuckles as he pours more whiskey into Sansa’s glass. “No, sorry Stark, looks like you’ve got another shot to take!”

 

“Gods, at this rate I’ll be the only one drinking!” Sansa laughs before downing her second shot in a row. Her belly is feeling decidedly warm, and she wishes for a moment that she could just take off her clothes to cool down, but _ that _ would definitely stop any conversations for the night. She blushes a bit at the thought of Jon seeing her undressed, and tucks that away for another time. “Alright Snow, your turn.”

 

“Are you thinking of a celebrity?”

 

“Nope!” She says, lips popping the “p”. Jon takes his shot with good grace, and he refills both their glasses. “You’re never gonna guess this one Jon, so you might as well give up now!” Jon takes his shot with a grimace and a cough, and Sansa asks, “So is it a thing?”

 

“Yeah, it’s a thing, well actually it’s a few things but they’re all part of one bigger thing.” Jon takes his shot and looks at Sansa again, ruminating on what he could ask next. “Is it someone that you knew as a kid or is it someone you knew as a teenager?”

 

“Jon! That’s not a yes or no question! Drink mister!”

 

“What?! We never agreed to that!” Jon looks mock-outraged but a smirk is playing on the corner of his mouth. Sansa wants to kiss him to turn it into a real smile, but she’s feeling a bit fuzzy now and knows she shouldn’t. Not yet.

 

“It’s my house, and house rules say I can make up whatever extra rules I want, so drink Snow!” She laughs, playfully batting his arm with her hand. Jon chuckles and exclaims, “Well there should be a penalty for making up rules on the spot! You should drink too!”

 

“Alright, alright, I’ll drink,” she faux grumbles as she picks up her own glass, and they tip them back in unison. Sansa has lost count of how many shots they’ve taken at this point, and she scoots a bit closer to Jon. “I’ll throw you a bone though, it’s someone I knew in high school, someone I hope to any gods that are out there that I never have to see again.”

 

Jon looks worried for a second, and he opens his mouth to say something but seems to think better of it. He nudges her shoulder as he takes the glass from her hand to refill it. It feels like an electric current passes between them, and Sansa is sure he’s felt it too, since he’s now looking at her, eyes darker than before, and a blush on his handsome face. Sansa thinks she’s probably blushing too, and titters behind her hand, chancing a glance at Jon’s perfect mouth.  _ Oh what I’d love to see him do with those lips…okay, now I’m definitely blushing! _

 

“Okay, so, erm, does it have anything to do with sports?”

 

“Nope!”

 

They continue on for several more rounds, dancing around the hidden answers and mulling over the clues. Sansa is feeling decidedly drunk at this point, but then again she can tell that Jon is definitely pretty far gone too. His eyes are slightly glassy as he watches her finger trace a pattern over her full lips. She’s pretty sure she’s got his figured out, but at the same time she wants to prolong the game for a bit longer.

 

“So it’s a thing, or maybe more than one thing, but they’re all related. It’s got something to do with both books and movies, it’s a fantasy series with mythical creatures, and it’s an older series…. Hmmm, you’ve got me stumped, Jon Snow.”

 

“Yours is even harder to guess! A person you knew in high school that you never want to see again, and you embarrassed them in public? That’s impossible! Come on Sansa, I need more to go on than just that,” Jon almost whines, leaning towards her and grabbing her hands, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy.

 

Sansa pretends to contemplate for a moment, relishing the way he looks at her when he pleads, before huffing out a breath. She eyes the empty decanter sitting on the coffee table and figures now is the perfect time to strike. “Alright but I have one more question… Is it a box set of the Lord of the Rings series? Books and movies? Maybe even a special extended edition?”

 

Jon’s eyebrows almost leapt off his face with the force of his surprise, his mouth agape before he bursts into laughter. “How could... How did you guess that?! Yeah, that was what I was thinking of. I actually have a special shelf next to the TV for all my Lord of the Rings stuff...have you been stalking me Sansa Stark?”

 

“Yeah definitely Jon, seeing as how I have no clue where you live I have  _ clearly _ been spying on you!” She rolls her eyes but shoots him a mischievous grin. “I already knew you were a history buff obviously, and the geeking out over video games earlier made it easy to guess with the right clues. Lord of the Rings is classic nerd territory! Now drink!” She hands him the shot glass she’s holding, and he downs them both in quick succession.

 

“Alright Stark, now you’ve gotta tell me yours, you’ve punished me enough!” Jon’s looking a little disheveled, having run his fingers through his inky curls while contemplating during the game. Sansa thinks he couldn’t look sexier even if he tried.

 

“Okay okay, so I was thinking of the only boyfriend I had in high school.” Sansa confesses, and the expression on Jon’s face turns from anticipation to something akin to horror. “Not like that Jon! I was thinking of the time I pantsed him at a party and then pushed him into the pool.” Sansa bursts out laughing at the memory and the way Joffrey’s face had looked. “Oh gods it was  _ hilarious,  _ and the best part is that my brother Robb got it all on video. It’s immortalized forever in the cloud.” Sansa wipes tears of mirth from the corners of her eyes, and Jon looks mollified as he guffaws.

 

“I’m assuming you wouldn’t just do that for no reason, so he must’ve done  _ something _ stupid.”

 

“Oh, he was being a royal prick to me at the party, and I heard from someone that he was telling all the guys that he had gotten in my pants, which he  _ hadn’t _ . I was so pissed that I told him it was over. He called me a frigid bitch, so I pulled down his shorts AND underwear, then I just pushed him back into the pool. I’ll have Robb send me the video so I can show you some time.”

 

“I’d love to see that, it sounds hilarious!” Jon’s eyes are crinkled up in a smile as they both laugh again and Sansa suddenly feels bold enough to bring up what she’s been skirting around all night. She doesn’t  _ want _ to talk about it, not at all to be honest, but she  _ had  _ said she would, and she isn’t one to break a promise, not to Jon at least.

 

“Alright Snow, I think you’ve waited long enough, so I would like a chance to explain myself now.” She takes two measured breaths, just like she did the day she first saw Jon, and while she isn’t exactly calm, she feels composed enough to tell him what’s been weighing on her heart and mind. He brain is really quite fuzzy, and she hopes that she can say what she means without too much confusion.

 

“So…Harry has been cheating on me, maybe even as early as last year, if what my sister Arya says is true. She wouldn’t lie to me, anyway,” she blurts out rather flatly.

 

Jon’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. His hands fly back to hers, gripping them tightly.

 

“You...you’re saying that Harry...what?! Why would he ever cheat on you?!” He’s nearly apoplectic when he finally speaks, a look of rage plain upon his face. His eyes are darker than thunderclouds and a snarl twists his lips. “Sansa, I am so sorry that he did that to you! How could that thick-headed son of a bitch ever do that to you?! There’s absolutely no excuse that would forgive him for that. You deserve so much better!”

 

Sansa shrugs, more concerned at this point with the vein sticking out on Jon’s forehead than Harry’s infidelities. “It’s alright, Jon,” she says soothingly, prying one hand from his and running her fingers through her hair. She brings her hand back to his, lacing their fingers together. “It was a lot to work through, but it’s not all that surprising at the same time. Harry was a huge flirt when I met him, I just thought I could change that about him. Do you want to know how we met?”

 

Jon looks confused and angry but calms down enough to see that Sansa is waiting for his answer. He shakes his head slightly, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Is this going to excuse him for cheating?” He asks with a hint of incredulity.

 

“Not really, but to be honest I should have realized that he was never meant to be tied down,” she shakes her head and continues, “I was at a fraternity party with my roommate Margaery during the first week of junior year. We were having a great time and were probably six or seven drinks deep, just dancing and overall having a grand ol’ time and this handsome guy came over and started chatting us up. Well, really he was flirting with me, and I flirted back. I was young and naïve and, like,  _ really _ drunk, and I decided I suddenly didn’t care about being a virgin and waiting and all that. I woke up in bed with him in the morning.” 

 

Sansa pauses for a moment, considering how next to continue the story. She feels warmth curling in her belly; whether it’s from the drink or the caring way Jon watches her as he listens to her share this vulnerable memory with him, she enjoys it all the same.

 

“After that night, I guess I thought we were dating, even though I was always the one calling to make plans or invite him to my flat. It’s not that he didn't want to hang out with me, but I just thought that it was normal for me to be the one going after him all the time. I didn’t have good experiences with dating, as you can probably tell,” she chuckles, gauging Jon’s reaction. His face is as still as if it had been carved of marble, but his eyes are watching her with a tenderness that would have shaken her to her core if she wasn’t already feeling rattled by revealing all of this to him. Sansa honestly isn’t sure if she wants to continue, but all the memories and repressed emotions are bubbling up and threatening to boil over, and she knows she can’t stop now.

 

“We dated on and off for a couple months before Harry actually got serious about us. I was so  _ happy _ that he was finally planning dates instead of just asking me to come to his place for pizza and a quickie. I don’t know what changed, but then it was a bit of a whirlwind after that….he asked me to move in with him after he graduated that winter, and proposed after I graduated just before I started grad school...Oh my gods, Jon, I just remembered something,” Sansa lets out a dry sob as she looks into the fire for a long moment, ruminating on the memory and briefly wondering if a gift basket full of vipers sent to her former  _ best friend _ would be able to be traced back to her. 

 

Jon is still quiet, waiting for her to flesh out whatever this revelation is, but squeezes her hands in reassurance.

 

“I think that Margaery and Harry might have been sleeping together before Harry asked me to move in with him. I remember there was one morning about six months in...he’d stayed over at our flat and I woke up later than usual. They were sitting on the couch in the living room and they both had wet hair.” Sansa is more that a bit shocked by this realization after so many years, but Jon is looking at her quizzically now and she has to stifle a laugh at his obvious cluelessness.

 

“We only had the one bathroom, and Margaery would have  _ never _ been seen in the living room with wet hair when a guest was over, unless it was her flavor of the month boytoy….” She hopes Jon gets the hint, and this time he does, because it’s too painful now to voice her suspicions aloud. 

 

Jon takes a couple of deep breaths before breaking the silence he has held for the last ten or so minutes. “So your sister was the one who found out first…how did she find out? Gods Sansa, I’m so sorry. How do you feel about all of it?”

 

Sansa lets loose a quiet chuckle. 

 

“She was the unfortunate viewer of his sext to one of her coworkers. And you know, I was heartbroken for a while before I remembered that a certain handsome coworker of mine was probably into me.” She looks pointedly at Jon, who has the decency to flush the same shade as a beetroot. “Arya sent me the incriminating photo of Harry, and some of the sexts he had been exchanging with her coworker, and she found his dating profile. I found out a couple of weeks ago but just confronted him about it this morning. I told him I want to get divorced, and that’s actually the real reason why he’s not here right now. I told him he couldn’t come here anymore. I went to the clinic for an STD test and thank the gods I’m clean, so I won’t have any reason to think of him after it’s all over.”

 

Jon looks contemplative for a long time... _ too long,  _ Sansa thinks, before he replies, clearly choosing his words carefully. “So  _ that’s _ why you looked so pissed off this morning.”

 

Sansa’s hit with a wave of confusion so hard that the room almost spins.  _ What is he talking about?  _ Even in her advanced stage of drunkenness, she doesn’t remember seeing Jon that morning, and if she had, she would have definitely remembered it, considering how she had only gone to the middle school and then the clinic before heading home. 

 

“What? When? I didn’t see you this morning…”

 

“You didn’t see me, but I saw you. I was walking my dog when you drove by the dog park with Harry, and I couldn’t figure out what made you look so upset. Now it makes sense, you must’ve been in the middle of all that.”

 

Sansa is shocked that he had been witness to even just a glimpse of her conversation with Harry, but hides it behind her practiced mask of tranquility. She’s not sure what to make of this, and she’s disquieted by the fact that someone,  _ even Jon _ , had seen her at one of the most vulnerable times of her life. She tries and fails to calm herself down as she’s starting to feel a little panicky, even though she knows that Jon would never judge her for anything he might have seen. Jon, who’s so caring, and gentle, and sweet, would never think less of her for the tumultuous conversation he had seen, but she had to  _ know  _ what exactly he saw.

 

“What’d you see, Jon?” She asks in a quiet voice, eyes on her hands that she’s pulled back to clasp in her lap. She can’t bear to look at him when he answers, but he surprises her by reaching out and holding her hands in his own again, mirroring what she had done with him earlier at Hot Pie’s as he confessed his pain to her about the loss of his mother. She looks up at him through her lashes, willing her eyes not to spill the tears that threaten to fall once again. For a moment, she wonders when she had last cried so many times in a single day, and then she remembers the day her father, Ned, had passed away suddenly from a heart attack. 

 

Now she can’t stop the tears, and she’s not sure if it’s from the overwhelming emotions of Harry breaking their marriage vows, or the way Jon is looking at her with the most exquisite tenderness in his eyes, or if it’s because of the pain of the father she’s lost, the father who’s only wish for her was to be with someone who is brave, and gentle, and strong.

 

Jon tilts her chin up slowly to look directly into her eyes, glistening with tears as they are, and Sansa can see the heartbreak in his eyes too.

 

“Sansa, all I saw was that you were clearly upset, and now that I know what it was about, I know that you were right,  _ so right _ , to be angry at Harry. I’m so sorry sweetheart, that you’ve had to go through this,” he replies softly, reaching up to brush away the tears on her cheek with his thumb. Sansa leans her face into his hand, a sob escaping her lips again. Jon’s eyes are piercing right through her soul when he continues, “You deserve  _ so _ much better that that. You are an amazing woman. You’re sweet, smart, strong, and you’re so,  _ so  _ beautiful. If Harry can’t see that, then he’s blind as well as an idiot.” The emotion in his voice causes a fresh wave of tears to cascade down her cheeks, and all Sansa can think is that Jon is the kind of man that her beloved father would have wanted to see her with. 

 

“Jon…” she whispers around the lump in her throat, and before she knows it, she’s leaning into him and her lips are crashing onto his own; they are soft, and so sweet, with the heat of the whiskey he’s drunk on his breath, and maybe the alcohol is muddling her brain but she’s gripped by a sense of finality, that  _ this _ is in fact the man she was supposed to be with, not Harry. Her lips slide over his, and he returns her kiss with such passion, such hunger, that she can no longer deny that he wants her too. 

 

She licks at the seam of his lips, wanting to taste his mouth, and desire is washing over her in red hot waves. But instead he stops the kiss and she whimpers when he pulls away too soon, feeling the loss as acutely as if one of her limbs had suddenly been ripped away from her. She feels as though she’s in a fever dream, and the only thing tethering her to reality is Jon. He looks at her through heavy-lidded eyes, ringed by the thinnest circle of brown, and he pulls her into his arms for a rib crushing hug. 

 

“Sansa, I want to wait just a moment love,” he says as he’s cradling her to his chest and stroking her hair. Jon pulls back from her, searching her face. “I like you. Honestly, I haven’t felt this way about anyone for a really long time, but I don’t want you to do anything you aren’t ready for. I know heartbreak hurts, but we’ve drank a lot tonight and I don’t want you to have any regrets,” he finishes softly, carding his fingers gently through the hair at the nape of her neck. 

 

Sansa is struck again by the tenderness she sees on his face, and he knows he will be true to his word. She wants to kiss him again but she isn’t sure how he would receive it, so she represses the feeling for now. Instead, she grips his hand that’s resting on her knee, and bring it to her lips, kissing each knuckle as she looks into his eyes. She wants him to know she means what she says too, and by the look on his face, he reads her desire loud and clear. The brown of his eyes is completely replaced by the obsidian of his pupils

 

“I know, Jon. I promise that anything that does or doesn’t happen tonight or later, I won’t regret it. You’re a good man, and I know that you’ll be gentle with me. With my heart.” She says the last part staring down at where their hands are intertwined, studying the calluses that belie the nature of the strong, sweet man sitting next to her. She places his palm on the spot above her heart and looks up, searching his face for any falsehoods, but she finds none. She had known she wouldn’t.

 

“I would like to kiss you again,” Jon murmurs, but it’s framed like a question. He’s looking at her like she’s a scared animal, and Sansa appreciates the caution, but the thought of his lips on hers again stirs a deep-rooted, primal desire she hasn’t felt before. She feels a need to claim him, make him her own.

 

“Then kiss me, Jon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry I know I promised smut this chapter but it got to be something like 8k words so I split it, SMUT IS NEXT I SWEAR!!!
> 
> Love you all and thanks for reading! I love comments, they motivate me to write more and like actually be productive so leave me a note or w/e :)


	10. So This Heart Learns to Trust (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE IT IS!! The much fretted over smut chapter...I’ve edited and re-edited and deleted and added and labored and suffered trying to get everything pinned down. I hope it’s worth the wait!
> 
> Huge shout out to Brad for being my constant cheerleader with this chapter and reading it through almost as many times as I have lol, Brad you are an absolute GEM!!

__“Then kiss me, Jon.”

 

The words seem to echo in the small space between them, causing a jolt to spike through her veins to her most private place. Sansa holds her breath as she awaits his reaction, fearing she’s been too forward, and Jon’s face goes a bit fuzzy around the edges as she stares into his invitingly dark eyes.

 

He searches her face once more for a long moment, looking for any hesitation on her part. He must not see any because in the next breath his lips collide with hers once again, and this time their tongues are locked in a sultry dance of licking and tasting and mapping. The sensation sears through Sansa like the wildfire in the old stories from the time of knights and dragons and beautiful maidens. Sansa’s blood heats, and she wants to leap out of her skin with the thrill of it all. 

 

Instead she settles for crawling over Jon to straddle his lap, bracing one hand on his shoulder while the other hand slides up his neck and through his curls to the crown of his head. She can’t contain the sigh that seeps from her lips as he breaks away from her mouth to suckle at the pulse point on the side of her neck, which further encourages Jon’s mouth. His hands are on her waist, then sliding over her hips, then ghosting over the curves of her ass; she can feel his want for her between her legs where his jeans are hot and straining.

 

“Jon,” she says through a moan as he sucks on her earlobe, “ _ Please _ , I need you.” Jon groans, long and loud, and moves his head away to look at her, scrutinizing her plea. What it is that he’s looking for, she isn’t really sure, but his unexpected response has her quivering with anticipation.

 

“Uh, so I know it’s kind of weird, but…” he gulps a lungful of air before continuing in a rush, “Can I give you a back rub? You just seemed so tense before and I want to help.”

 

Sansa can’t stop herself from grinning broadly at his request, odd though sweet as it is, and she nods in acquiescence. “How do you want me?” She practically purrs, not bothering to hide the suggestive tone that colors the question.

 

Jon groans again, but suggests, “Would you prefer to sit on the couch or the floor?” 

 

Sansa licks her lips, and replies, “I would actually prefer to lay down on the floor, if that’s alright.” The room is spinning a bit by this point as all that whiskey is hitting her at once, and the thought of Jon next to her on the floor by the fire with his hands on her body creates a tempting picture that she absolutely needs to make a reality. The thought of him making love to her flits through her mind, but she chides herself,  _ One step at a time Stark, he might not want to do that tonight, all things considered. _

 

Jon’s gaze burns into her from his position on the couch as she sinks down slowly to her stomach on the plush rug in front of the fireplace, she gathers her long hair in one hand to drape over her shoulder while she turns her face pillowed by her crossed arms towards the heat of the fire. She closes her eyes in an attempt to quiet the way her pulse sings through her veins, but it’s all for naught when she feels Jon settle on the floor next to her and his warm hands begin to lightly touch her back, gauging the tension in her shoulders.

 

“Gods Sansa, you’re so tight,” he murmurs in a low voice, and she chuckles at his embarrassed gasp when he realizes what he’s said. “I mean, your shoulder of course, you’ve got knots enough to put a sailor to shame,” he continues hastily, muttering under his breath, “How much have I drank tonight?” Sansa can picture the flush flaming on his cheeks even though she can’t see it from where she lays. She grins to herself and flutters her eyes open to stare into the dancing flames.

 

“Go on, Jon. Loosen me up,” she teases as his hands begin to work their way across her shoulders. She feels herself relax deliciously as Jon takes his sweet time, his strong and sure grip making its way across her shoulders to meet at her spine, and she shivers pleasantly as his thumbs meet at the nape of her neck again. His hands move up to rub the residual tension out of her neck, then graze lower to her shoulder blades to relieve the stress there as well, and Sansa is incapable of all thoughts or of stopping the deep sighs of satisfaction she feels as Jon rubs circles into the knots he finds there.

 

“Gods, that feels  _ so good,  _ Jon,” she moans out when he presses his fingertips into the slots between her ribs, and his sharp intake of breath tells Sansa he understands what she hasn’t said. She gasps in surprise when she feels him rise up to gently straddle her thighs just below her arse. The groan that escapes her this time is one of longing, and she feels Jon’s rumbling chuckle reverberate through her legs and buttocks as he works his hands lower, towards the small of her back. She can feel the heat from his erection at the lower curve of her ass. She grinds back gently in response, causing Jon to groan once again.

 

“Does that feel good, sweet girl? I could make you feel better than this,” he rumbles when he leans down close to her ear, his forearms braced on either side of her and his chest brushing against her back. His breath on the shell of her ear is hot and heady with the scent of whiskey and she can detect his own unique smell, crisp like freshly fallen snow and the sharp-sweet smell of pine trees as it mingles with the smokiness of the fire close by. She shivers delightedly, heat pooling low in her belly.

 

“Oh is that right, Mr. Snow?” she replies sweetly. She’s so warm, and all she wants is to turn over and face Jon, gaze into his beautiful eyes, and then kiss him until she’s not sure if the whiskey or his lips are what’s making her entire world spin.

 

Jon sits up suddenly, his hands returning to their previous mission, thumbs pushing circles down at the base of her spine but traveling ever so slowly lower, kneading into the soft flesh of her ass. Sansa can’t help but shiver at the way the heat of his hands sizzles right through the thin barrier of her dress and the panties beneath it, and the accompanying gush of wetness that soaks the thin layer of lace covering her.

 

“Oh  _ Jon _ , don’t stop,” she moans again, painfully aware of the barrier when Jon bucks up slightly between her cheeks, never once halting his ministrations. She feels her face heat at the sensation and now all she can think is  _ fuck me, fuck me, FUCK ME. _

 

“Sansa, do you know how often I think about you?” Jon asks, stopping the massage to sweep his hands around to the front of her hips to pull them back against his own. She props herself up on her elbows and looks back to Jon, his eyes blazing a path across her face and down the curve of her spine. “Do you know how many nights I lay awake fantasizing about touching you like this? Or how many times I’ve taken myself in my hand to the thought of making you come?” Jon gently thrusts against her ass, his fingers digging into her hips and Sansa is almost overcome with the absolute  _ need _ that washes over her.

 

“No Jon, tell me,  _ please _ ,” she practically begs, wanting to hear how much he’s wanted her too. She’s been touching herself almost every single night since the day that they’d met to thoughts of Jon, and now it’s attainable and so  _ real _ and she thinks she could come just from the feeling of his cock pressing against her ass through the layers of clothes separating them. 

 

“Every night before I fall asleep, and every morning when I wake up, and sometimes just because I need to. I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you sweet girl, how could I not? You’re the smartest, sweetest, and most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met,” Jon says, punctuating each statement with thrusts that make Sansa moan.

 

She drops her face back down to the rug and reaches her hands back to her hips to lace their fingers together, not wanting him to stop but wanting more,  _ so much more _ , despite the pleasure she’s getting from dry humping alone. She’s tempted to reach down to touch herself through her clothes, but she can only imagine how much better it would feel if it was Jon touching her instead.

 

“Wait a second,” she says as she slips her hands from his. He pulls back and off of her so she can scoot out from beneath him, and she slips her legs forward just enough to sit up and lean back into where he’s crouched on his heels behind her. She rests her back against his chest and finds his hands where they’re resting on his thighs, and brings them up to cup her breasts through her dress. 

 

“Okay, you can go ahead,” she teases as his hands start kneading gently into the softness of her breasts. Sansa moans as Jon starts placing soft kisses against the expanse of her exposed neck, his warm breath raising goosebumps on her skin. She rocks back against him, seeking the heat of his erection again, and finding it causes Jon to groan, her eyes closing at the feeling of his hands on her and his cock against her ass. His warm hands find her nipples through the fabric of her dress and bra and brushes lightly over them, stiffening them to little peaks, before he tweaks them gently. She lets out a light gasp of pleasure and rolls her hips into his.

 

“Is this what you want, Sansa?” He murmurs huskily in her ear, grazing his teeth against her earlobe. She nods vigorously, and the chuckle he lets out against her neck makes her reach back to card her fingers through his soft curls again, pulling his lips flush against that sweet spot just below her ear.

 

“ _ Yes, _ Jon, I’ve wanted this for as long as you have,” she babbles as another rush of wetness makes a ruin of her panties, but at this point she’s too far gone to worry about the scrap of lace that’s keeping her from Jon. “I’ve touched myself while thinking of you every single day, you’re so sexy and sweet and oh gods,  _ I want you, _ ” she ends with a loud moan. Jon’s responding moan into her ear sends a shiver of electricity down her spine.

 

One of Jon’s hands remains at her breast while the other hand slowly sweeps down the flat plane of her stomach to her mound, cupping it gently as a finger rubs her through her clothes. Sansa is nearly undone just then with the desire that scorches through her.  _ Gods, one finger and he’s already got me ready to come apart! _

 

Slowly, reluctantly, she pulls away and turns to face him, sitting back against her heels. Jon’s beautiful face is awash with lust, his eyes dark and his full lips parted slightly as his chest heaves. The sight is so lovely, Sansa could nearly cry; a man, this man,  _ Jon,  _ wants her despite her baggage, despite the looming presence of everything she’s revealed tonight. 

 

She leans forward, placing her hands on his broad shoulders and whispering against his lips, “I want you to make love to me, Jon.” 

 

Jon groans again but nods once, his lips caressing hers lightly before leaning in for a deeper kiss. The passion they have both been cautiously holding back is unleashed, and Jon’s guttural growl as their lips crash together causes Sansa to fling her arms fully around his neck, knocking him off balance, making them both fall to the floor in front of the fire. Sansa is astride Jon and she grinds herself down against him, fingers splayed across his chest as his hands grip her hips, bucking up into the slickness in her panties and making them moan in unison.

 

Jon sits up again, cradling Sansa against his chest, and he looks deep into her eyes, searching them again. “Will you lay back again Sansa?”

 

Sansa nods, suddenly at a loss for words, and moves down to the softness of the rug. Jon sits on his heels for a moment, drinking in the sight of her bathed in the firelight, and Sansa can see that his pupils are blown with the evidence of his desire for her. His hands move to the knot at the side of her dress, and as the ties slip loose and she brushes the soft fabric away from her arms to pool at her sides, Jon gasps and closes his eyes for a moment.

 

“Jon? Are you okay?” Sansa asks, worried that he might be having regrets about moving so quickly.

 

“Sansa, I’m more that alright. I’m fucking  _ fantastic _ ,” he replies fervently, opening his eyes at her voice. “You’re just….you’re an absolute goddess.”

 

Sansa blushes but smiles all the same, and as Jon touches her breasts through the thin cream lace of her bra, her eyes flutter closed and she revels in the sensation. Jon lowers himself to her side and cups her chin. She open her eyes to look at him, a question in his eyes as the firelight illuminates grey flecks that she hadn’t noticed before.

 

“Can I take your bra off? I want to kiss your breasts, if that’s okay,” he asks rather bashfully, a pink tinge spreading over his cheeks.

 

“Of course, Jon,” she replies. Sansa turns slightly to give Jon access to the clasp on her back. He unhooks it deftly, and slides the straps slowly down her arms until it’s completely off, and she turns back and lays down, suddenly shy at being topless before him. But the look on Jon’s face from where he’s laying beside her, a look of pure adoration that she’d only before seen in the most romantic movies, casts aside any doubt she has about herself, and he gently palms each breast in his hands before lowering his face down to lick first one nipple and then the other. 

 

“They’re perfect, Sansa, so perfect, just like you…” Jon murmurs between flicks of his tongue.

 

The sensation of his warm tongue on each nipple makes Sansa rub her thighs together, seeking to relieve even a modicum of the ache that’s taken up residence there. Jon blows cool air across her chest, causing her nipples to peak despite the heat rushing off the fire. Sansa lets loose another moan, and he’s licking and sucking on each of her breasts; his hands are back on her, one gliding lower and lower until…

 

“Sansa, can I take your panties off? I would like to kiss all of you,” Jon asks as he gently runs a fingertip along the top edge of her underwear, tickling her slightly. Sansa wonders if she’s ever met a man as gentle as Jon; the way he doesn’t presume or take liberties but instead asks permission before going any further turns her on impossibly more.

 

“Will you do me a small favor first?” she asks, looking at him through her lashes to where his eyes are pleading and his hands are teasing between her navel and the waistband of her panties.

 

“Of course Sansa, anything.”

 

“Take off your shirt. Please,” she adds in a cheeky tone, fluttering her eyelashes coyly at him. Jon grins at her, and his fingers fumble a bit with the buttons, but eventually they’re all undone and he slips the shirt off into a pile on the floor behind him. Sansa eyes travel across his broad shoulders and strong arms that she just  _ knew _ were hiding under his shirt, and his hard torso is rippled with muscle, with a slight trail of dark curly hair working its way from his navel down to disappear into the waistband of his jeans. 

 

_ He’s cut better than a damn marble statue! _ Sansa’s tongue almost involuntarily darts out to wet her lips. The room spins faster and she can hardly wait to see the rest but for now she gives a nod to Jon so he knows he can get her out of the last thing she’s wearing.

 

His fingers hook under the band of her panties, and she lifts her hips so he can fully slide them off. Jon gasps lightly when he sees her completely naked. Sansa blushes again and wonders if she should have shaved while showering this morning, but as Jon’s hand brushes up and down her sex, spreading her lower lips slightly and softly weaving into the coarse auburn curls covering her, she’s glad she didn’t. She moans at the feel of his lightly calloused fingers rubbing her clit gently.

 

“Gods Sansa, you’re even more beautiful than I could have imagined,” Jon breathes, and moves to kneel between her legs. He’s watching her with dark eyes, two liquid pools like the night sky. “Can I kiss you here now?”

 

Sansa breathes out a “ _ Yes yes yes, please Jon _ ,” and Jon settles himself on the floor between her legs, guiding them over his shoulders as he trails gentle, open-mouthed kisses up the soft skin of her thighs towards her center. It feels like all at once the only thing she can feel is his tongue on her cunt. He laps at her languidly, savoring her with the flat of his tongue between sharp strokes, and she could very well shout with the way he groans as he devours her arousal for him.

 

“Gods Sansa, you taste fucking  _ delicious,”  _ he murmurs into her folds, the rumble of his voice paired with the gentle rasp of his beard jolting directly through her, making her hands fly into his hair. she can’t breath, she can’t think when Jon’s mouth is on her.

 

Jon sucks her lower lips into his mouth, nipping them gently with his lips and sighing into her as he laps up her arousal with his tongue. He rubs his lips and beard over her sex, making her back arch and press her cunt against his mouth. A blissful moan escapes her; the feeling of Jon’s tongue fucking her entrance and teasing her clit, along with the absolutely obscene slurping sounds and groaning that he can’t seem to stop is enough to make her blood boil with excitement. Sansa wonders briefly how much longer she will be able to last if he keeps eating her out like a man dying of hunger. 

 

“Unh, oh gods,  _ yes, yes Jon!” _

 

Jon slips first one, and then two fingers inside her cunt, pulling and pushing and curling to the point that she’s completely breathless while she calls out her pleasure.

 

_ “ _ Oh...oh,  _ oh _ , Jon! Keep doing th- _ AT YES _ , oh  _ gods _ that feels so gooooood,  _ YES JON, YES I’m gonna _ … _ huh-unh-uh _ !” Sansa cries out as her orgasm crashes over her like a high tide and nearly stops her heart, pulling her under and drowning her with the force of her peak. 

 

Jon gently laps at her to gather up any extra juices, his fingers slipping out to softly caress her folds as she floats back down from the high he’s gifted to her. Her eyes flutter closed for a long moment, the rush slowly settling into a boneless contentment. She looks back up at Jon, a sweet smile gracing his face even though his eyes are dark and hooded with lust.

 

“Did you like that, sweet Sansa?” Jon teases, reaching up to brush a stray tendril of sweaty hair behind her ear. His beard and lips are glistening with her peak, and his fingers linger on her face. Sansa can feel the wetness of her own arousal still on them. 

 

She nods and turns her head slightly, capturing his wrist with her hand before sucking his still glistening fingers into her mouth, sucking them clean of her taste and not minding the flavor in the least. Jon’s eyes grow wider and get impossibly darker, and his breath hitches as her tongue plays around his fingers. 

 

She remembers the movement of her fingers around one of his one the night before, and lashes her tongue around his fingers again. Jon’s responding growl is deep and primal, and the heat she has just released gathers again, low in her belly.

 

“I want to return the favor,” Sansa hums as she watches his face. Jon’s jaw goes slack for a brief moment before he composes himself enough to grunt out a “Gods,  _ yes _ .”

 

Sansa scoots up on jelly legs, and levels herself with him, both of them on their knees when they kiss once more. She can taste herself on Jon’s lips and tongue when he pushes them gently into her mouth, and she rests her hands on his chest before one moves up to thread through his hair as the other snakes down to palm him through his clothes. His cock is impossibly hard and straining against the tight confines of his jeans, and when she makes that first contact, Jon twitches and moans so fervently that it sends a current straight down to her cunt.

 

“Please Sansa,” he whines, and that’s all it takes for her to move away from his lips to push him back slightly towards the couch. Jon takes the hint and raises up just enough to sink back into the cushions again. Sansa settles herself between his knees and unbuttons his jeans. She slides them and his underwear down over his muscular thighs with a little help from Jon, his cock springing free as soon as possible, joining the pile of clothes they’ve left on the floor.

 

Sansa licks her lips, staring at Jon’s thick length as though it’s the most delectable popsicle in the world. She braces her hands on either side of his thighs, swiping her tongue over the bead of precum that’s gathered on the head of Jon’s cock. 

 

He shudders and groans at the sensation, carding his hands into her hair, releasing an almost involuntary “Oh  _ fuck,  _ Sansa.” 

 

She takes him in one hand as she works her mouth over his cock, delightfully aware of the appreciative hums they’re both making as her mouth slips lower and lower around him. Sansa cups his balls when his cock almost hits the back of her throat, and cries her displeasure when Jon moans loudly and reaches a hand down to cup her chin, leveling their eyes. She sucks off of him with a pop and Jon looks pained at having stopped her.

 

“Sansa, you’re amazing and I would love to come in your mouth another time, but this time I want to be inside you,” he whispers huskily, his gaze raking down her naked body, and her mouth is suddenly dry with anticipation. She nods, unable to speak when he gets up from the couch and gently lays her back onto the plush rug. She spreads her legs open for him, pulling her knees up to her chest as wantonly as she can so he knows she wants this as much as he does. She flushes when his lusty sigh breaks against her face as he lowers himself on top of her. She can feel the head of his cock probing her entrance, and moans when it passes into her, ever so lightly. 

 

“Are you sure about this, sweet girl? I’ll stop if you ask me to, but if you want this…” Jon trails off as he rolls his hips just outside of her entrance, his shaft teasing her clit. Their eyes are locked together in a heady dance of desire. “I will make love to you all night, if that’s what you want,” he finishes, leaning down to let his lips brush her ear.

 

“I want this,” Sansa breathes out, “I want  _ you _ .” She finishes with a hitch in her throat. She’s never been so sure of anything in her life, and she needs Jon to make good on his promise.

 

He reaches down between them to grasp his cock, rubbing the head of it against the slickness between her legs, grazing her clit again and causing her to gasp and buck her hips at the contact.

 

“Just say the word, sweet girl,” he rasps as he places the head of his cock at her entrance again. He gazes into her eyes, waiting for her command, and she nods her approval when the tension in her belly doesn’t allow her to speak.

 

Jon sheaths himself within her fully with a slow thrust, both of them crying out their pleasure at the sensation.

 

“Gods Sansa!” Jon gasps out once his voice has returned. “You feel  _ amazing _ .” He begins slowly moving in and out of her, seating himself deeply inside her with every thrust. Sansa has never felt so full or complete in her life, and every moan from Jon sends electricity straight to her core. He’s looking directly into her eyes with every thrust and she thinks that she has found her knight in shining armor.

 

“ _ Sansa _ , ohh  _ Gods fuck _ you feel good,  _ so so good _ ,” Jon growls out between thrusts, his free hand palming first one breast and then the other. He leans down to suckle each soft nipple in his mouth as his hips snap faster against hers. The sensual sound of skin on wet skin drives Sansa mad with desire, and she breathes out in short huffs and sighs at each thrust with Jon filling her so completely. He watches her as she twists higher and higher towards another peak, his gaze full of lust beneath the hood of his eyelids. 

 

“Sweet girl, you’re gripping me so tight, I don’t think I can last very long, you’re just so beautiful and sexy and sweet,” Jon babbles as he changes up the pace. Sansa assumes he must be trying to last longer with this slower rhythm, but every time she feels the head of his cock enters her again she moans with pleasure at the feeling and she can tell that she won’t last long either.

 

As he thrusts in and out of her, she can’t help but wonder why sex had never felt this good before. Was it just that  _ he _ had been bad in bed or was it that she hadn’t truly wanted him with the level of desire that she now feels for Jon?

 

Either way, every thrust rocks against that sweet spot inside her, and she cries out, “ _ Jon, yes keep doing that, yes yes right there! _ ” He somehow manages to swing both of her legs over his shoulders and the new angle has her practically screaming with pleasure. His hand reaches down to rub at her clit in time with his thrusts and the sensation brings her right to the edge of absolute bliss.

 

“Come for me, beautiful, come on my cock, let me know how I make you feel, I just wanna make you feel good, love,” Jon’s babbling again as he watches the pleasure play on Sansa’s face.  _ He looks beautiful too,  _ Sansa thinks briefly,  _ like a... _

 

“ _ GODS!  _ Oh Jon, yes,  _ yes, don’t stop, yes yes YES!”  _ Sansa screams out as her hips stutter and stop with the throes of her orgasm. Stars dance just out of reach of her vision, and as her walls pulse and flutter around Jon’s cock, his hips snap faster and faster, until he’s erratic and he shouts out “FUCK,  _ SANSA!”  _ and spills inside her. She can vaguely feel the heat of his seed when he spends inside her, and it makes her feel sexy and wanted and  _ loved _ . Jon collapses partially on top of her, her legs slipping off of his shoulders and his weight held off by his arms. Sansa closes her eyes and thinks she could die now, boneless and elated as she is.

 

“Jon,” she puffs out as her heart slows and eventually returns to a normal pace, “that was just  _ amazing _ .” She looks up at him through her lashes, waiting to see if he is regretful or guilty for what they’ve done, but all she sees is contentment and satisfaction, and something she can’t quite name.

 

“Same here, sweet girl. That was way better than anything my bad imagination came up with,” Jon pants out a breathless chuckle as he tries to regain control. He leans forward, resting his forehead on hers. “I’d really like to do that again sometime.” He gives her a sweet smile, full of promises, and leans down to kiss her once again. Sansa’s last foggy thought before falling into a dreamless sleep is that Jon is  _ definitely _ a keeper.

 

***

 

Sansa wakes with another splitting headache, this one infinitely worse than the one from the day before. Her tongue feels like it weighs a thousand pounds and there’s an ache in her lower back and upper thighs that she can’t shake even with a thorough stretch to loosen all of her seized up muscles. The surface she’s laying on is hard yet strangely fuzzy at the same time, and she realizes she’s not in her bed but on the floor of her living room. The soft light that curls through the fireplace  grate from the dying embers is faint but she can make out a body next to her, all dark curls and pouty lips and hard planes of muscle.

 

_ Oh gods, it’s Jon Snow _ .

 

She wiggles as far away from him as she can without getting up, not wanting to aggravate the pounding in her head, and she's thankful that he doesn't stir. She just lays quietly observing him for a moment as her thoughts chase each other in circles.

 

_He looks so peaceful and handsome and…oh gods he’s butt naked! Wait, I’m butt naked! Did we fuck last night??_ _Oh holy shit, we did, what do I do?! Do I just pretend like it never happened or do I tell him that I meant everything I said last night? Wait...I don’t even remember what I said! Oh my gods we work together, how am I going to deal with this at school? What if someone finds out somehow? What if Harry finds out?!_ Sansa’s heart is racing as she remembers the events of the previous night

 

A wave of guilt and embarrassment rolls over her when she remembers her plan to get so drunk that she wouldn’t be afraid of telling Jon the story of her disappointing love life. Well, she had definitely accomplished at least part of that. Jon now knows most of the shitty things that Harry has done to her, and she has a hazy recollection of the way Jon looked when she spilled her guts to him.  _ Thanks whiskey, you’re a real pal! _

 

The other things that she remembers about the night bring a flush to her face.  _ I can’t believe that we went that far...but it was the best sex I’ve ever had, hands down. I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life. He was so much better than my fantasies… _

 

Sansa decides to snuggle back into Jon’s side, observing his steady, slow breathing and admiring the hard planes of his chest that peek out from under the quilt he must have grabbed from the back of the couch. She gently places her hand on his chest above his heart, and the melodic beat lulls her into a sleepy stupor as she thinks back on the events of the night. She can’t  _ really  _ bring herself to regret anything that they did, and her memories of the night before replay hazily behind her eyes as she drifts back to sleep.

  
  
  


_ A gentle massage, his hands slipping lower and lower towards her full, sweet ass, a whispered promise, and the sensual fullness of her breasts in his hands; the essence of her on his tongue when they kissed again, branding her into his very soul to guarantee he would never be able to forget her…the steel-hard softness of him in her hot mouth and gentle hand, her fiery hair twisted in his fingers, the moans she’d let out when she licked and sucked and stroked him...the rhythmic pounding of his cock into her impossibly tight cunt, the feeling of wet heat and her walls fluttering around him to bring him over the edge of utter ecstasy… _

 

Jon woke with a jolt. He had been having the most fantastic dream about Sansa, and he was more than a little chagrined to be brought back to the real world. But then he realized...the walls of his bedroom were deep grey, not cream, and his bed definitely softer than this... _ Where’s Ghost?  _ Jon thought for a brief moment before realizing that his dog wouldn’t be here because  _ he was in Sansa Stark’s house! _

 

He whipped his head around to look at his surroundings. The cream walls and sleek furniture of the room were definitely not his own, and when he saw Sansa on the rug next to him, copper hair spilling out and fluttering next to his nose, he knew without a doubt that his dream definitely wasn’t a dream. Jon cracked a smile so wide it could have been registered on the Richter scale.

 

His sweet Sansa was asleep next to him, soft lips pouted out and long lashes flush against the apples of her cheeks. Her bare body was barely discernible beneath the line of the quilt, and he noticed that her hand was laying gently against his chest, just above his heart. His breath caught in his throat and he couldn’t have imagined a more beautiful picture even if he tried. She stirred sleepily, and Jon hurriedly shut his eyes again, not wanting to be caught staring at her. 

 

There was no need for his concern however, as she slept on. He cracked an eye open again after several long seconds to observe Sansa, and he decides that he wants to wake up like this every single day. As he drifts back to sleep, he imagines all the ways that he could wake her up with a smile on her pretty face.

 

*****

 

Sansa’s phone goes off at precisely 11:15am, making both her and Jon startle awake as though sirens are blaring to warn them of some impending doom. Once she realizes it was nothing more than an email, she looks sheepishly at Jon, who’s sleepy grin makes her heart stutter before clambering off the floor to check it. She groans and sways a bit at the sudden movement, and stumbles towards the couch with her phone in hand, collapsing on top of the cushions. She realizes her mistake rather quickly despite the sodden state of her brain, and grabs a large throw pillow to hide her naked body. She’s too embarrassed to meet Jon’s eyes so she toys with the edge of the pillow when she asks, “Did you sleep well?” Jon chuckles lightly and reaches for her hand, stopping the fidgeting with a caress of his thumb. 

 

“I slept better than I have in years, Sansa. What about you?” He questions in return, and Sansa peers up at him through her lashes to find a self-satisfied smirk on Jon’s full lips. She grins back at him.

 

“Never slept better, although I think I’ll need about a hundred glasses of water to rehydrate my brain,” she teases. “Do you want to get dressed and then go for breakfast? I need something hot and salty to feel better.” Jon’s sleepy eyes perk up at that, and Sansa flushes when she realizes that it could sound like she  _ might  _ have been inadvertently seducing him.

 

“BACON! I need bacon and eggs and pancakes to feel better!” Jon’s cheeky grin lets her know that the unspoken implication wasn’t lost on him, and Sansa leaps off the couch not caring a smidge about her nakedness, to head to the bathroom. She needs some painkillers and she needs them NOW if she’s going to coherently get through this breakfast with Jon Snow.

 

***

 

Crossroads Diner is packed when they finally make an appearance, and they have to wait a bit for a table to be cleared and cleaned before they can sit down. Jon keeps a hand between Sansa’s shoulder when she sways slightly. He can guess that she is feeling as shitty as he is, but he’s got to hold on to the last bit of composure that he can.

 

When they reach their freshly cleaned table, Sansa flops into the booth and groans a sigh of relief.

 

“I’m so glad to sit down, everything hurts at this point.” A flush creeps over her cheeks and she adds, “My head is absolutely throbbing and my back, well…”

 

Jon grins at her. He hasn’t smiled this much in years, but Sansa has the ability to bring out that side of him. He remembers the previous night through the fog of alcohol, but the parts he remembers have him shifting restlessly in his seat.  _ Tangled tongues and two sets of lips and a heady wet heat… _

 

“Same here, I’m more tired that I thought I would be but thank the gods for painkillers, right?”

 

Sansa had offered him some as soon as they were dressed. Jon had taken the pills with no hesitation, but he still felt like a sack of shit. The pounding in his head notwithstanding, this is the best he’s felt in a long time. He’d wanted to make sweet, sober love to Sansa when he woke up but his headache had other ideas.

 

Sansa gives him a reluctant smile, and something about it makes him stomach clench uncomfortably.

 

“Last night was a mistake, Jon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW this was a long chapter for me. Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think as the rest of this fic is essentially uncharted (but not un-outlined lol) territory, and nice comments etc help me get through my all too frequent writers block. Loves to you all!!!!!!!


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